


One of a King

by DomesticGoddess



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, But only 2, Consort!Bilbo, Crown Prince!Thorin, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Erebor never fell, F/M, Hobbits in Erebor, Hurt!Bilbo, Hurt/Comfort, King Thrain - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Smaug!AU, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Single Parent!Bilbo, past underage abuse, protective!Thorin, smitten!Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomesticGoddess/pseuds/DomesticGoddess
Summary: Bilbo moves to Erebor from Belegost with his daughter Dahlia looking for a fresh start. Shunned by his people and living as a lone hobbit among dwarrow, he faces hardship after hardship as he struggles to provide for his daughter. Broken and weary, he’s devoted himself to bringing what happiness he can to his daughter at the expense of any possibility of his own. A chance encounter with a dark haired stranger changes everything and knocks what little peace he has found off balance. The dwarf seems determined to be involved in Bilbo’s life and he finds himself unable to keep pushing him away. Suddenly his own happiness doesn’t seem so far out of reach.**Trigger Warnings!!**There are themes that you may find triggering, but no graphic depictions will be in this work. Most triggering events take place before the time frame of this story and will only be mentioned in the past tense and non-graphically. This is a story about healing but please check the tags and read at your own risk.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Ori, Dís/Dís's Husband, Thráin/Thráin's Wife
Comments: 667
Kudos: 1242





	1. A Fresh Start

Bilbo scrubbed away, washing pan after pan and dish after dish with such efficiency it had some of his dwarrow co-workers raising their brows at him. He didn’t have time to sit around and gossip with the other kitchen workers. Unlike the cooks and bakers, being a lowly dishwasher meant he couldn’t go home until all of his work was done and all the dishes were cleaned and put away for tomorrow.

Not that he was complaining. It was work. Work meant money and money meant that his baby girl wouldn’t go hungry. He lifted his eyes as he continued to scrub, glancing over into the corner where his little girl had set up to wait while he worked. She sat quietly, munching on some biscuits one of the bakers had shared with her and practicing her reading and writing with the paper and charcoal stick Bilbo had been able to buy with his last payment. 

He had purposely pushed for a job in the kitchens for her sake. Dwarrow as a whole loved children, no matter their race, and his Dahlia was such a sweet, adorable thing. He knew working in the kitchens would likely result in regular free samples for his little girl. The dwarrow just couldn’t resist spoiling her.

It helped that she was so well behaved, which Bilbo thanked Yavanna for every day. Only eleven and already so responsible. She faithfully worked on her lessons as Bilbo worked, keeping quiet and out the way. He couldn’t afford formal lessons or a sitter, so he would prepare lessons for her to keep her busy and bring her to work with him. 

Fortunately, none of the dwarrow he worked with seemed to mind as she was very good at being unheard and unseen. As proud as he was of her, he couldn’t help the twinge of sadness that always accompanied such thoughts. His baby girl was being forced to grow up too fast. It wouldn’t have been this way in the Shire. She should have had the carefree childhood every other hobbit child had.

But they were survivors, he supposed. And surviving meant adapting. Erebor was the Dwarven capital of Middle Earth. It had more opportunities, more security, and more everything compared to Belegost. Surely he would be able to give his faunt happiness here.

He finished rinsing his final pot, well ahead of the other washers, and immediately began put his share of the dishes away. 

“Just about done there, Master Baggins?” A kitchen aid named Bombur asked as he flitted around him putting dishes away. He was a portly and normally quiet dwarf, but, despite his introverted personality, Bilbo had discovered he had an even bigger soft spot for younglings than even other dwarrow, probably because of his own six dwarflings at home. He was also the only dwarrow in the kitchen who seemed to care for the older hobbit as well as the faunt.

“Just about, Master Bombur. Poor Dahlia’s ready to go home, I’m sure.”

“Oh, no need for master, Master Baggins. Just Bombur is fine. She is such a patient, sweet angel.”

“Aye. She is. And just Bilbo for me then, if you’d like.” Bilbo grinned as he moved around the portly dwarf.

Bombur grinned back at the friendly permission. “Bilbo, then. Hey, I set aside some of the left-overs for you and your gal. I even threw in some biscuits.” Bombur spoke quietly as he leaned forward with a wink, pulling out a covered tray from a cooling oven. “Ya work harder than half the helpers here, no reason for ya to miss out.”

Bilbo’s chest warmed at the gesture. “Thank you, Bombur. I hope this isn’t something you’ll get in trouble for.”

Bombur shook his head. “It’s just left overs. I just know there isn’t much left by the time ya get done with your work, so I set some aside for ya. It makes one less meal for ya to worry about.”

Bilbo took the tray, he would let Dahlia eat her fill first. “Thank you, Bombur. If there’s anything I can do for you, my friend, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“W-well, as a matter of fact, there is something.” The portly dwarf fidgeted. 

Bilbo’s brows rose in curiosity. “You can ask me anything, Bombur, if I can help you I will.”

“I’m not from Erebor, you see. My family came over from the Blue Mountains like yourself.” Bombur started in hushed tones. “I’ve heard some about hobbits, that they are . . talented with food, aye?”

“Food is a common love all hobbits share, yes.” Bilbo chuckled.

Bombur nodded, pausing a moment. “It’s-it's my dream to become a head cook, here in the royal kitchens, but I’m not very good, which is why I’m just the help. But-but you can cook, can’t ya?”

Bilbo nodded slowly, starting to suspect he knew where this was going. It was true. Bilbo was an excellent cook, as most hobbits were. He was only stuck washing dishes because, well, because he was a hobbit in a city of dwarrow. Naturally, they preferred to give the higher positions to their own rather than to outsiders. “You would like me to teach you?”

“If-If it’s not too much trouble. I-I can pay you, not a lot, but something.” The ginger dwarf hurried to add. 

Bilbo was already shaking his head. “Nonsense. You have six little ones at home and I’m sure the pay for kitchen help is hardly sufficient for such a large family. No, I’d be happy to help you, my friend. Your kindness is the only payment I need.”

“Really?!” Bombur’s portly form bounced excitedly.

“Of course.” Bilbo smiled. “I’m going to the royal infirmary tomorrow to ask for some part time work, perhaps once that’s settled we can work out when we can start some lessons.”

“More work? I thought you worked in the library?”

“Yes, in the mornings and here in the evenings, which leaves me with a very open afternoon. And, well, I don’t suppose hobbits get paid as much as their Dwarven counterparts.” Bilbo shrugged. It was a fact he was well used to by now. 

Bombur frowned. “That’s not right, not fair to such a hard worker as yourself.”

“Such is life. I would be happy to start teaching you as soon as we can work out a time, Bombur. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to let Dahlia get started on some dinner.”

“Of course! Thank you, Bilbo.” The portly dwarf ushered him away with a final nod of appreciation. 

Bilbo left the tray with his daughter and left to finish putting his dishes away. When he was done, he sat down and ate what was left before quickly washing and putting away those dishes. 

Finally they were heading home for the night. It was getting late and he had to be up early to work in the royal library. They walked hand in hand, his thoughts already lost in tomorrow. 

He would review her work tonight and prepared something for her for tomorrow. He had work first thing in the morning at the library and washing duty again tomorrow evening in the kitchens. He would go to the infirmary in the after noon and ask for work. Hopefully between the three they should have enough money to get by. Dahlia needed some new clothes, not to mention school supplies and, oh how he would love to be able to by her some new toys. Her old ones falling apart from use, gentle as she was with them.

He sighed. The trip to Erebor and finding living quarters had drained almost everything he had saved up in Belegost. His Dwarven landlord had demanded three months rent up front as he didn’t seem convinced Bilbo would be able to keep up with it. It had drained what was left of their resources. 

That had been almost two weeks ago. They had ridden through the gates, eyes full of awe and wonder at the grand Dwarven capital and immediately sought out lodging. They had, at least, managed to find something. It was only a tiny one room apartment in one of the . . less attractive parts of the city, but Bilbo had plans of finding something better when he could afford it.

So he really needed this extra infirmary work. He just hoped whatever dwarf was in charge would give him a chance.

He was so lost in thought he barely noticed when he brushed against someone as they were crossing over the bridge from the royal palace. Despite how late it was getting, there were still plenty of dwarrow about it seemed. He muttered an apology but kept walking. He needed to get home and get Dahlia to bed. It was a long walk back to their apartment and they had to be up early to make the walk back. 

Hopefully tomorrow would bring more opportunities.

_~Thorin~_

He sat at his desk, finishing up a pile of paperwork that his father had dumped on him. It was a well known secret that King Thráin had his eye on an early retirement, which meant that he had been pushing more and more of the crown duties on Thorin lately. 

Not that he couldn’t do it, and his father wasn’t brutal about it. He never pushed so much on him that he didn’t have time for anything else. Indeed, there was no reason for it. Between himself, his mother, brother and sister and Balin, the royal adviser, there were plenty of hands to get the work done.

Thorin, however, was taking on more of his father’s share of the work, things requiring the attention of the king himself, which Thráin would review and affirm or deny. It all seemed rather pointless to Thorin. He had been actively involved in his father’s work for decades now. He figured it probably had more to do with the official transfer of duties than anything. 

He finished the work right on time. Next, he was expected to sit in conference with the mining guild and after lunch another conference with the council. He made his way to the conference room. He could safely say conferences were not his favorite aspect of kingship.

After spending what felt like all day locked in a room and arguing with everyone in sight and seemingly resolving nothing, Thorin was itching for some movement. He stopped by his rooms to dress in his sparing clothes and headed down to the arena to work off some steam with his close friend and guard.

Sparring with Dwalin as always exhilarating. They were so evenly matched it was rare for either of them to actually get a win, though they certainly gave each other enough minor bruises and cuts. On the rare occasions he did manage to drop the big guard on his arse, it was very satisfying. 

They finally stopped, calling it a draw, so they could get cleaned up for dinner. The queen always insisted that the family have dinner together several times a week, if only to see everyone that often. Thorin didn’t mind it, for the most part. Though his family could certainly be trying at times. 

After changing and cleaning up, he headed to dinner. As usual, he was right on time, not late as would be rude, but not early enough to have to listen to all the gossip either. He kissed his Mother briefly, respectfully greeting his parents, before taking his seat.

The gossip died down as their dinner was brought in and he quickly filled his plate and started eating, hoping to avoid much conversations. 

“So, Thorin, my son, I heard a new traders caravan came in a couple weeks ago, anyone catch your eye?” The king asked casually, all other conversations at the table quieting. 

Thorin sighed internally and fought the urge to roll his eyes. This again?! He knew his father was eager to retire, but Thorin really didn’t need a spouse to handle the pressures of being King. “No, father.”

“Hmm. No one of interest?” His father pushed. 

“I have no interest in marrying unless I should find my One. We've discussed this.” He retorted shortly. Time and time again, in fact. Like any dwarf, Thorin was perfectly content to be married to his work. And, like many others, he was convinced only the soul-deep longing for his One would change that. 

“Don’t get defensive, Dear. We don’t wish to see you in an unhappy marriage. We know you yearn for your One. We only want to make sure you aren’t missing him or her because of your own stubbornness.” He mother placated. 

“If my One was part of the caravan that arrived, I have not felt or noticed it.” He answered to appease his mother. 

“Perhaps, we should host another ball?” Dis suggested win a mischievous grin from behind her glass. 

Thorin sent her a glare.

“That sounds like a great idea! It’s been a while since we had a ball!” His mother agreed.

“Not long enough.” He mumbled. “You know I hate balls.” 

“We could open it up to the commoners. Maybe his one isn’t noble born and he just isn’t looking low enough.” Dis added, smirking at him victoriously. 

“Maybe you should just line them all up and walk them by me until I’ve touched every dwarrow and dwarrowdam in the mountain.” He snarked back. Not all One’s were recognized on sight. Things like expectations and preconceived ideas could make it harder for a dwarf to spot his one. But touch was fool proof. No one could mistake the touch of their One, it was unmistakable no matter how dense or stubborn the dwarf. 

Dis shook her head. “That wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

Thorin wanted to growl at her, but kept his face blank save for the dark glare he was still aiming at her. Truly it was easy to see where her sons got their mischievous prankster tendencies from. Vili sent him an apologetic look, and Thorin’s ire deflated. For all her prodding, she really did just want him to find his one. 

“Why do we always have to talk about finding my One? What about Frerin? He’s still single.” He tried to redirect. 

“Oi! Don’t turn this on me!” Frerin yelped, making his nephews snicker. “What about them then? They’re of age!” He pointed at his nephews making them start yelling out protests.

“What?”

“Us?”

“Only barely!”

“We’re too young to worry about that mushy stuff!”

“Yeah! Kili hasn’t even grown a proper beard!”

Kili elbowed his brother, who shoved him back. Soon they were falling from their chairs, wrestling and exchanging insults. 

Dis rolled her eyes and ignored them. The king and queen just chuckled at their antics. 

“A ball would be good for all of you.” The queen finally returned them to their topic. “And, hopefully, at least one of you will choose a dam. I would dearly love some new grand babies.” She sighed wistfully. “Now that my boys are getting too old to be pampered.”

“We’re never too old for your pampering grandma!” The boys popped up, righting each other’s clothes and hair. They rushed around and each planted a kiss on her cheeks before taking off, most likely to find trouble.

“I do not need a queen or consort to be a good king.” Thorin sighed after his nephews had disappeared. 

“No, but the support would help you greatly.” King Thrain squeezed his wife’s hand affectionately. He had been fortunate enough to find his One early in life, as had Dis. 

“And it is not just for you. It is good for the people to see you settled, content and balanced with a strong spouse as support.” The queen added, returning the squeeze to her husband’s hand. “We just want to see you happy, Thorin. Being king is a heavy weight to bear.” She added when he shook his head with a sigh.

“And perhaps I do not have a One. You have hosted ball after ball in the hopes of finding them. Maybe there is simply none to find because I do not have one.” His chest and throat tightened at the admission. It’s not that he didn’t want to settle and be happily married, he just knew it could never be without his One. And lately he had been forced to consider that he may not have one. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t unheard of either. It was more common simply to never encounter one’s other half, though not so much with royalty and nobles who could afford to search for their Ones.

The table was quiet for a beat. “Don’t say that, Dear. I’m sure you have a One out there somewhere. We just have to find him.” His mother reassured, sounding on the verge of tears at the very thought of her son never being complete. 

Thorin stared at his plate in silence. 

“Yeah, I mean. I haven’t found mine either.” Frerin tried to encourage. 

“Maybe he’s still young.” Vili spoke up. He was a quiet type, but when he spoke, it was always worth listening too. “It’s not terribly uncommon for Ones to have a significant age gap. Perhaps he has simply not come to your attention yet because of his youth.” 

“Of course! That’s very possible!” The queen nodded eagerly, willing it to be the case.

Thorin stared at his brother-in-law as he considered that. It was possible. As much as he questioned it, he could feel the yearning for his One, not the emptiness associated with not having one. Could his One just be young yet?

“Everything will work out. You’ll see.” The queen patted his hand. “And we will have a ball.” She finished in a more upbeat tone.

He groaned as his sister heartily agreed with the idea. He pushed away from the table, excusing himself. He wasn’t going to win, he was just going to have to suffer through it. 

He found Dwalin quickly enough and convinced him to accompany him down to a tavern. When he became king, he wouldn’t have this freedom anymore. He might as well enjoy it while he could. 

They sat in one of the nicer taverns closer to the palace, Thorin nursing his ale under his guards suspicious gaze.

“Hear there’s gonna be another ball.” 

Thorin groaned and nearly dropped his head into his drink, making Dwalin snicker.

“Why can’t they just leave it alone.” 

Dwalin chuckled. “Personally, I think they just like using’ ye as an excuse for havin’ ‘em.”

“Then they should leave me out of them.” Thorin growled.

“They gettin’ on ye about it again, then?”

“As if I’m the only one who hasn’t found his One. Frerin hasn’t found his. You haven’t found yours. Why does everyone seem so concerned about mine?!”

“Aye. I’ve not had much time to look myself and Frerin just has his heads in the clouds too much to notice much of anythin’. ‘Is One could be right in front of ‘im and 'e’d probably miss it.”

“Do you think I’m missing mine?” Thorin asked quietly.

Dwalin eyed him searchingly. “Naw. Ye want it too bad.”

Thorin scoffed into his drink. “I just want some peace.” Truly, he’d be perfectly fine if he didn’t have everyone reminding him he hadn’t found his One yet and stirring up the yearning he had quickly learned to suppress over the past several decades. 

Dwalin chuckled and patted him roughly on the back. “Come on. It’s gettin’ late. Worry about it tomorrow, aye?” He pulled the prince to his feet.

They walked back to the palace, Thorin brooding silently all the way. They were just passing over the bridge to the palace when he felt someone brush against him. Thorin froze mid-step, his body nearly numb from the wave of electricity that had shot through him. His breathes came out ragged as the almost painful jolt of energy faded into a pleasant, tingling sensation. His fingers twitched with the need to touch . . something . . _someone_! He twisted around, searching desperately, hoping he would see and recognize his One.

He barely registered the guard’s voice booming at him. He clenched his fists repeatedly as a feeling of loss and incompleteness settled over him as the strange energy continued to fade with no further sign of his one.

Dwalin grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him around. “Ye all right?!”

Despite the feeling of loss, Thorin couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Yes.” He answered gravelly. “I’m great.” He patted his confused friend on the shoulder before turning to head into the palace, leaving him to follow. 

His One was here! He had a One! And they were here in the mountain! He would find them if he had to interview every servant, worker, and noble dwarf and dam in the city! He studied his hand, marveling at the heat and electricity his One had left in their wake. He had heard that the feeling of the initial contact reflected the depth and nature of the bond. If that was true, he could already tell his One was going to be amazing. 

If anyone noticed the uncharacteristic grin on his face on his way back to his chambers. No one mentioned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo gets an impromptu test at the infirmary. Can he convince the old healer he's worth hiring despite being a hobbit?


	2. A New Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Happy update day! I don't have a sneak peek for you this month because I finally ran out. But! There is currently a poll open on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/domesticgoddesswriter) for a bonus update to celebrate my reaching 200 [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/domesticgoddesswriter) followers! You can find the poll [here](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/190945127790/200-followers), so be sure to go leave a comment for the story you want to see get a bonus update! It'll only be open for a few more days, so don't miss out!
> 
> Oops. This chapter was supposed to be half Bilbo and half Thorin. So much for that. So, here, enjoy some Bilbo! We'll catch up with Thorin in the next chapter. 😋

Bilbo said goodbye to Ori, a young dwarf training to be a scribe whom he often worked with in the library, and ushered Dahlia out the large library double doors. They needed to hurry if they were going to grab something to eat for lunch before they went to the castle infirmary. 

They nearly sprinted out the gates until they found a food stand. It was just a little one selling some kind of meat pies. They were pretty good sized but still a little more than he could afford. He sighed a small wistful sigh as he resigned himself to only getting a few bites. Dahlia needed it more.

He payed the dwarf and grabbed their pie before charging back into the castle. Dahlia would have plenty of time to eat while he was talking to the dwarf in charge. They speed-walked through the castle, trying not to attract too much attention to themselves, until they neared the royal medical ward. 

Bilbo slowed them down and tried to make himself more presentable. Honestly, there wasn’t much he could do. His clothes were used when he had gotten them and had been patched and sewn up numerous times. He couldn’t do much about his appearance, but he calmed himself and did his best to look professional. 

“Once we’re in there, I want you to find a nice, quiet corner and eat your lunch, all right?” He instructed his daughter. 

“What about you, Papa? You haven’t eaten.” She wondered. 

“I’ll eat . . later. All right? I’ll get something later.”

She nodded. “I’ll save you some.” She promised seriously. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t worry about it. You eat as much as you like.” He petted her bouncy brown curls. They reminded him so much of his mother. The memories caused an ache in his chest and he sniffed away the water welling in his eyes. “I love you so much.” He whispered, tilting her head up so he could kiss her forehead. 

“I love you too, Papa.” She wrapped her arms around him and he squeezed her back tightly. 

“All right.” He pulled her away, making sure she had her pie. “Let’s go see if they’ll give your Papa a job, hmm?” He petted her curls once more and led her into the medical ward. 

It wasn’t particularly crowded but there were only a handful of healers and they were all busy with patients. He shooed his daughter to the nearest empty corner and wrung his hands nervously as he tried to figure out who was in charge. 

“Wound or illness?!” A gray-haired healer barked at him as he wandered around the room towards him.

“U-uh, n-neither! I-I’m-“

“Then be gone with ye! I’m busy enough without spectators!” He passed by heading over to oversee a patient being tended to by one of the other healers.

Bilbo was shocked by the dismissive response but shook himself from the daze and followed after the dwarf. This had to be the dwarf in charge. “A-actually, I-I was hoping I might be able to help with that.” He spoke as he trailed behind the dwarf. “You see, I was wondering if you had any openings for new workers, particularly in the afternoons.” 

The dwarf barked a few things at the attending healer before moving on. “Ye have experience?”

“Y-Yes! I worked as a physicians assistant in Belegost for a couple years. Mostly doing busy work like preparing wraps and slings and keeping things clean and sterilized. I also have a decent knowledge of herbs and their medicinal usages, though I only practiced such at a personal level.”

“Ye ever worked with a patient?” The healer further questioned as he continued about his business. 

“Um, n-no. I-I wasn’t permitted but I’ve done some mild private consulting.”

“I’ve got enough cleaners. What I need is healers.” The dwarf dismissed him. 

Bilbo’s gait faltered under the weight of failure. He needed this job! He glanced over to where Dahlia was sitting, slowly eating her meat pie to make it last longer. He sucked in a determined breath and shook off the discouragement, renewing his chase of the busy dwarf. 

“P-please! Master, uh . .” “Oin.” The dwarf supplied.” “Master Oin. If you could-if you could just give me a chance! I know my herbs! I-I May not be . . overly familiar with how dwarrow use them but I know what they’re good for! I-I can dress wounds and treat minor ailments! Surely that would be helpful to free up some of your own time!” He did his best to convince, 

The older dwarf suddenly spun around and Bilbo almost ran into him. He stepped back a few paces as the dwarf studied him. “Yer a halfling.”

“That doesn’t make me incompetent or incapable.” Bilbo replied meekly, willing himself to overpower the anxiety such a situation inspired in him. 

The old healer was still studying him when a new patient walked in the door. “Oi! Anyone here know how ta sew fingers back on?” He yelled into the infirmary jauntily. 

Bilbo paled slightly. The poor dwarf must be in shock to be so happy about losing a finger. 

“Bofur! This is the third time this month! Haven’t ye learned anything in those mines?!” Master Oin scolded and he marched over, nearly dragging the ‘Bofur’ fellow over to a cot.

“Aw, it’s a mine. Things happen.” He shrugged, wearing an almost disturbingly friendly smile despite the blood oozing from his hand. 

“To ye more than others! Yer the most accident prone miner I’ve ever seen!” Oin grumped as he roughly inspected his hand. “And full of enough hot air to fan the furnaces! Yer finger ain’t fallin’ off, ye daft dwarf!” He smacked the dwarf up side the head for the false alarm, nearly knocking off his hat.

The miner yelped and caught his strange hat before it could fall off his head. “Oi! Is this how ya treat yer patients?!”

“Only the annoying ones! Ye don’t even need stitches, just a good disinfectant and wrap. “ Oin considered the miner for a moment, before turning back to Bilbo. “Take care of ‘im. If ye pass, ye got a job.” He waved him over and walked away. 

Bilbo gaped at him gobsmacked, as the healer walked away. “Wh-What? Just . . like that?” But Oin was long gone by the time he worked up the voice to ask. His gaze swung back to the miner who was watching him curiously, a smile still on his lips. 

“R-right.” Bilbo cleared his throat and yanked his tunic smooth. “All right.” No pressure. He could do this. He approached the miner meekly. Close one-on-one encounters always made him nervous. “M-May I see your hand?” He requested, doing his best to maintain eye contact, but failing more often than not. 

“Sure thing.” Bofur held his hand out and Bilbo gingerly turned it about to assess the damage, making as little physical contact as possible. “It really isn’t that bad. Just bloody, I think. We best, uh, get it cleaned up first. I’ll just need a moment to . . . find the supplies.” He murmured as he excused himself. 

Clean rags and hot water were easy to find and he grabbed a basin and some clean cloths to clean out the wound with, scanning the room for what he was going to need next as he made his way back to the miner. He spotted the herb and medicine shelf and knew the next stage was going to be a problem. 

He grabbed an empty service cart on his way back and set the basin on it as he prepared to wash the miner’s hand. Bofur volunteered the appendage without having to be asked and Bilbo got to work. 

“Don’t see many halflings in Erebor. You are a halfling, ain’t ya?” Bofur chatted casually. 

“Hobbit . . . actually.” Bilbo caught his annoyed reflexive response and toned it down, giving his patient a shy, apologetic glance for his harsh response. He hated the term halfling. It made hobbits sound less capable than everyone else. Just because he was smaller than most, didn’t mean he was useless.

“Course. Sorry, only knows yas as halflings here. Hobbit it is then. What brought ya all they way over here? Heard ya ha-hobbits don’t leave yer homes much.”

“New opportunities.” Bilbo answered blandly. He didn’t like giving out personal information. 

“Fair enough.” Bofur nodded, accepting the vague answer easily. “Gardening not yer thing, ey? Bet ya wanted more of an adventure. What’s it like? Hobbitland? Heard ya grow stuff everywhere.”

“I suppose. It’s called the Shire and, yes, all hobbits share a love of things that grow. The land is covered in green with rolling hills and beautiful gardens around every smial.” Bilbo reminisced wistfully. “But I . . haven’t been there in a long time, so I couldn’t give you any recent details.”

“Oh? Ya been here long? Haven’t seen ya before?”

“It’s a big city . . But no, we only arrived a few weeks ago.”

“‘We’? How many of ya hobbits are there in Erebor?” Bofur sounded intrigued. 

Bilbo paused, a surge of panic racing through him. He forced it down. It’s not like it was a secret he had a daughter. She went with him everywhere. But it still made him anxious to talk about her with new dwarrow. “Just . . two. Myself and . . my d-daughter.” He clarified reluctantly as he finished cleaning Bofur’s hand and scooped up the dirty cloths to deliver them to the cleaners. 

Next, he needed something to disinfect the wound with. He gazed up at the medicine shelves. There was no way he was going to reach anything at the top. He glanced around and spotted a small stool, pulling it over so he could get a better look. 

He scanned through the bottles and jars he could reach, but everything was labeled in Khuzdul. He sighed in distress, afraid that asking for help would get him disqualified from being hired. He sniffed a few bottles, trying to identify them, when a jar of golden liquid caught his eye. 

Perfect! He knew what that was! He grabbed the jar and sucked in a deep breath of the sweet scent coming from the jar, confirming his identification. He grabbed an applicator swab from the desk and fetched a fresh wrap. 

“What’s that?” Bofur wondered curiously as Bilbo opened the jar and prepared his swab.

“Honey. Smells good, tastes good, and is also an effective antibacterial. It will help keep your wounds clean and it’s easier to get a hold of more if you need to use it at home.” Bilbo explained confidently, forgetting to be anxious in the moment.

“Really? . . . Wait! You’re _that_ hobbit!” Bofur exclaimed with a point with his good hand, almost startling Bilbo into dropping his swab. 

“ _That_ hobbit?” He glanced around wondering how much attention they’d attracted. 

“I thought ya worked in the kitchens?”

“I-I do . . In the evenings. H-how do you know that?” Bilbo asked baffled and slightly suspicious. 

“Ya work with Bombur!”

“You know Bombur?” Bilbo asked pleasantly surprised. 

“Know ‘im?” Bofur chuckled. “He’s me baby brother!”

“No! Baby? Are you sure about that one?” Bilbo’s suspicion faded away and was replaced with a more comfortable ease. Bombur was a wonderful dwarf and, though he wasn’t a big talker, Bilbo did recall him mentioning a brother.

Bofur erupted in laughter, slapping his knee and nearly toppling over onto the cot. The mirth was infectious and even coaxed a giggle out of Bilbo. It was gone almost as soon as it started. He didn’t even recognize the sound anymore. He settled for a more subdued, slightly there smile. 

“Aye! He’s the baby all right! Though ya wouldn’t know it from lookin' at us. He’s told me about ya! No details really. Just that ya was a hobbit workin' in the kitchens and had a wee lass. Said ya was gonna give him some cookin’ lessons!”

“Yes, I hope to be able to help him out soon.” Bilbo confirmed as he dabbed Bofur's hand up with honey and began wrapping it. 

“What ya doing here, then?”

“Oh, I . . only work in the kitchens in the evening. . . It’s not really enough to support us though, so . . here I am.” 

“Oh, aye.” Bofur nodded in understanding. “Me and me cousin help support Bombur’s wee ones. It’s tough on the bottom.”

“That’s . . very good of you.” Bilbo was impressed. He knew Bombur had several dwarflings. It must be nice to have that extra familial support. 

“Nah. Me an’ Bifur ain’t got families of our own, so we help out for Bombur’s wee ones. Young ones are rare enough as it is. Gotta support ‘em when ya have ‘em.”

“It’s still very good of you. I . . imagine having that extra help is a great relief. They’re very lucky to have you.” He offered a small smile. 

The miner went silent and Bilbo tried to ignore the weight of his gaze. “Well, there you go. Keep it clean and covered and you should be good in no time. Keeping honey on it will help it heal a bit faster. If you experience any fevers or abnormal swelling though, you should come back in to get looked at.” He finished up. 

“Looks great! So, uh, who’s helpin’ ya and the wee one?” Bofur squeezed in as he stood up from the cot, examining his wrapped hand. “Mahal! This is some of the best wrapping I’ve gotten done here!”

“Thank you.” Bilbo chuckled softly at the exaggeration. “And it’s just me. Me and my Dahlia.” He shot a glance over to his baby girl, checking to make sure she was still okay. She noticed and sent him a cheerful wave. 

Bofur caught him looking and followed his gaze. “That her? Why she’s a gem! A right darlin’!” 

“Thank you.” Bilbo accepted, slightly unnerved by the attention being drawn to the only precious thing in his life. Even if Bofur was a perfectly decent dwarf, it made him nervous to have her noticed so blatantly. His eyes were shifting about anxiously when he noticed Bofur flexing his good hand. “Does your hand hurt?” He blurted out without thinking.

“Aye, ya just patched it up, but I reckon it’ll go away soon enough.”

“No, no. Sorry. Not that one. The other one. You’re flexing it. Is-is it bothering you?”

Bofur looked down at his good hand, mostly hidden by his glove. “Oh, well, ya know. Miner’s hands. Get a lot of abuse down in the shafts.”

“May I see it?” Bilbo asked. 

“Uh . . Sure.” Bofur slipped his glove off revealing his abused, knobby knuckles. 

Bilbo took his hand in his and started to massage at the misshapen joints. “Does that hurt?” He asked as he continued to apply pressure. 

“It, uh, feels kind of good actually.” Bofur answered a bit breathlessly. 

Bilbo immediately glanced up, catching the blush on the miner’s mostly hair covered cheeks. He dropped the hand with stuttered apologies. “I-I’m so sorry. I-I should’t have-“

“Nah, it’s all right. So what’s your dignoses?”

“You mean 'diagnosis'?” Bilbo returned puzzled. 

“Aye, that too.” The miner grinned. 

Bilbo huffed a small laugh. “I think dig-noses are more up your alley.” He teased lightly. Bofur stared at him in shock before bursting out laughing. “To answer your question, It looks like ‘gardner’s knuckles,’ a rather severe case of it. At least, that’s what hobbits call it. I think you dwarrow call it something else.” He informed once Bofur’s laughter died down. “I can make a cream that should significantly help with the pain . . . if I can get the ingredients.”

“Really? Ya can do that?” Bofur wondered impressed. 

“Do what?” Oin barked right behind Bilbo, making him jump. 

“Help me hands!” Bofur waved them for emphasis. 

“What? Has he found a way to knock some common sense in yer head?!”

“Nah. I meant me joints. Says he can make something to help with the pain.”

“It’s arthritis. There’s no cure for it.” Oin shot down as he inspected Bilbo’s work. “What ye’d use on this?” He wondered baffled. 

“Uh, honey and there-there isn’t a cure, exactly, but there are several herbs that target joint health specifically.” 

“Honey?! Why honey?!”

“Oh, well, it has antibacterial properties. . . It was on the medicine shelf.”

Oin raised a baffled brow at him. “And what would ye use for arthritic hands?”

“Well, there are several herbs and some can be just as easily eaten to get the desired affect. Turmeric is very effective for joint health and can be used like any other spice. But there are others that . . . might be easier . . to get a hold of.” His confidence fizzled out under their combined stares.

“But why the honey?!” Oin asked again. 

“W-well I . . I couldn’t . . read the labels and every one was too busy to help. I didn’t want to risk doing more harm than good, so I . . . used what I knew and could accurately identify.” He wrung his hands nervously. There was no way he’d get hired now.

“You’re hired!” Oin announced without preamble. 

“What? Really?!”

“Aye. Most my assistants can’t wrap this well. Yer smart. Smart enough to know not to use something if ye don’t know what it is just for a chance to get a job. Smart enough ta find a solution with limited options. Yer hired! When can ye start?” 

“Uh, now! Thank you so much, Master Oin!”

“Aye. Is that yer lass over there?”

Bilbo’s dread came back. “Yes. B-but I promise she won’t be in the way. She’s very well behaved.”

“Aye, she’s a quiet one, but this ain’t the place for wee ones. Not all of our patients are cuts and scrapes.” Oin warned. 

“I-I know. I . . I don’t- . . . . I need this job.” He tried not to plea. 

Oin studied him a moment and nodded. “She can stay in the royal suite. That’ll keep her out of sight and ye can check up on her. It’s a secure ward that goes mostly unused. Just through there. How often can ye work?”

“Thank you. Uh, every day in the afternoons. I have morning and evening jobs elsewhere but I can devote all my afternoons.”

“Aye. I’ll take as much as ye got. I’ll show ye where ta record yer hours today and we’ll get the rest figured out when we get a slow spot.”

“Thank you again, so much.” 

Oin just grunted in response. “You! Get out! Yer taken up space!” He shooed the miner out. 

“What about me hands?” He squawked.

“Uh, give me a few days to get oriented and . . . figure out the labels, and come back in. I'll see if I can have something ready for you by then.” Bilbo assured as he walked him to the door. 

“All right. Ya’ll be seein’ me again.” Bofur promised with a wink. 

Bilbo instantly tensed up but did his best not to show it and forced a small smile and nod. Bofur probably didn’t mean anything by it anyway. The dwarf sent a friendly wave to the hobbit lass in the corner before he finally ducked back out the door. 

Bilbo nearly raced back to his daughter, scooping her up in an excited hug, sharing his triumph before escorting her to the royal wing of the ward. It was large and empty. It didn't look like it'd been used in a while and there was only one entrance. 

He helped her up onto one of the untouched beds so she would be more comfortable. He would change the linens before he left. It was definitely a step up from sitting in a corner. “I’ll be back to check on you often, all right?” He assured with a kiss to her head and headed back to the main wing to start his new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: We catch up with Thorin whose abnormally good mood gradually fades into a dark slump as he makes no further progress finding his One.


	3. A Frustrating Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Day! Enjoy some updates! 😁

The day seemed to both drag on forever and fly by too fast as Thorin struggled through his daily responsibilities. All he wanted to do was run around searching for his One, but running wild with no direction wouldn’t accomplish anything. 

No. To increase his chances of finding the one who sent spikes of hot energy through his arm, he needed to be smart. Obviously, the best time and place to look was the same time and place that he first encountered his One. That would be late in the evening and at the castle’s front gates, which meant he really couldn’t do much until evening anyway.

Still, he was having a hard time focusing on the tasks before him. He had found his One! Almost. But they were there! In Erebor! Somewhere. He just had to find them! No more wondering if he even had a One. No more doubting he would ever find them. His One was right there in front of him somewhere. He just had to identify them. 

The mere fact that he encountered them at the castle gate and so late in the evening indicated that his One most likely worked in the castle. Most of those leaving that late are lower level employees of the castle. 

So, his One was a commoner, a lower ranking servant most likely. Not that it bothered him any. They wouldn’t be low ranking once they were his consort. Class barriers didn’t really apply to Ones anyway. How could two bearers of the same soul be separated by class? 

Had Thorin met them already and simply didn’t recognize them? And what about his One? Had they not recognized him either or were they simply holding back? Because they were a servant? Did they feel unworthy? Or were they simply as clueless as he was? He had so many questions. He tried to imagine what they would look like, male or female, short or tall, dark or fair skinned, dark or light haired . . 

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t construct an ideal image in his head of how he hoped his One would look. Beauty came in all shapes and sizes! He could only assume they would be perfect no matter what they looked like. But the curiosity was becoming unbearable and he wanted to find out sooner than later. Why, he could see himself planning a wedding within the week if all went well!

Forcing himself to sit and read boring reports was almost too much with all his thoughts, questions and excitement, but he finally got through it, late. He had to immediately go get ready for dinner, he’d already missed too many recently, and didn’t have time for much else. But his plans were set and the time drawing closer for him to act on them boosted his mood. As soon as he made it through dinner, he was setting up post at the gate.

He freshened up, taking a little more time to make sure he was presentable, he could be meeting his One that evening after all, and headed to dinner. He arrived about his usual time and most the family were already present. “Evening, Amad.” He greeted, surprising her with a kiss to the cheek.

“Thorin! You startled me.” She studied him a little closer. “You’re in a good mood this evening.”

“Why should I not be? It’s a good day.” He replied casually as he started to load his plate. He purposefully ignored the several suspicious looks aimed at him and signaled for a servant to pour his ale. 

“Yes, so it is. Though, I wonder what has you thinking so.” His mother wheedled.

“No particular reason.” He replied blandly as he started into his food. Suspicious looks were passed around the table, but he was in too good a mood to care. 

“We were just discussing when the date for our ball should be.” Dis tried to instigate. “What do you think, Thorin?”

“It makes no difference to me. Have it whenever you like. But if you wish to make it open to the commoners, you’ll need to issue it a holiday to make it so anyone can come.” He answered uninterested. If things went his way, he’d be attending the ball with his One on his arm, taking full advantage of the opportunity to show them off. 

“Really?!” His mother asked flabbergasted. “Thorin, you hate balls!”

“I don’t particularly care for them, but you’ve already made up your mind for this one so what’s the point in resisting.”

His mother and sister exchanged glances. “We’re considering making it a masquerade ball. You know, masks and fancy get-ups. To make it easier for those who may be hesitant to approach you because of their status, or lack there of.” Dis tested. 

“Do what you want.”

“All right! Spill it! Why are you in such a good mood?! You hate masquerade balls more than anything!” Dis gave up her subtle questioning. “Dis!” Vili quietly chided her for her outburst. 

“Sorry we’re Late! Meeting ran over. Hope we didn’t miss anything too interesting.” Thain announced as he and a bored looking Frerin arrived together. 

“Oh, but you did Adad. Thorin says he doesn’t mind if we have a masquerade ball.” Dis informed. 

“What?! You hate masquerade balls!”

“So do you and that’s not what I said.” Thorin replied passively. 

“We’re here!” “We’re not late!” “Not that late anyway!” Fili and Kili burst in, fumbling over each other as they raced for their chairs. Dis rolled her eyes at them. “What'd we miss?”

“We were just discussing how your uncle approved a masquerade ball.” Dis raised a brow at him, trying to goad him. 

“What?!” “Uncle?!”

“That’s not what I said. I gave you neither my approval nor disapproval. I simply said I don’t care.”

“What is wrong with you?” Frerin made a disgusted face. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?!” He pointed menacingly with his fork.

Thorin rolled his eyes and ignored him. 

“Stop being so dramatic, Frerin. But he’s right. You’re not acting like yourself.” Dis eyed him suspiciously. 

Thorin shook his head. He just couldn’t win. 

“Has something . . good happen? Have you perhaps . . found something . . . or someone?” His mother gave him a meaningful look. 

“I’ve found nothing yet, Amad. I've merely renewed my passion to look.” He smiled despite himself. He didn’t want to tell them just yet. He couldn’t wait to see their faces when he surprised them with his One in person.

“Oh? Well that’s wonderful, Dear. I told you they’re out there somewhere. You just have to keep looking. But I do hope you wouldn’t keep it from us if you did find them.” She added with a suspicious tone. 

“Why would I do such a thing?” He smiled a bit mischievously and she raised an unimpressed brow. 

He chuckled and wiped his mouth after finishing. He’d stayed long enough he had work to do. Ho got up and kissed his mother on the cheek one last time. “Perhaps soon I will have some good news to share.” He allowed himself to hint. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to take care of.” He chuckled at his mother’s excited speculations as he left. 

He immediately went to the front gate. It was still much earlier than he had encountered his One before, but he was too excited to wait any longer. Besides, he didn’t know if there was a particular time his One would be leaving. Sometimes the servants hours fluctuated depending one the going-ons of the castle. 

He found a spot off to the side just inside the gate where he could see all the traffic coming and going. He leaned against the base of one of the the large entryway statues of his forefathers. Out of the way enough to avoid the traffic but in clear view of the surrounding courtyard and bridge. Now, all he had to do was watch and wait. 

He stood there for hours, assessing as many individuals as possible before they passed out of his view. No one particularly stood out to him, but his enthusiasm didn’t dim. He wasn’t so naive to think he would find his One on the very first night . . . Well, not so naive to expect it anyway, but he could hope.

It became later and later and his attention heightened with every passing hour. It was getting closer and closer to the time when he had first felt his One. The traffic died down as only the late working servants remained and he studied each one carefully. 

Still no one stuck out to him. It was getting very late and the foot traffic was getting sparse and still no one had caught his eye. He sighed, hanging his head in resignation. His first attempt was a bust and he contemplated calling it a night. 

He looked up and almost startled not expecting to see anyone as there had been no announcing clatter of boots. A small figure passed through the outer courtyard. They were so small, he almost thought they were a child, but the figure passed by, silent as a ghost, tagging an almost doll-sized figure along beside them. 

That was no dwarf. A. . . halfling? Halflings were the only race shorter than dwarrow. It _had_ to be a halfling. But a halfling in Erebor? And even working in the castle apparently. Wait. Now that he thought about he had heard something of the like. He remembered seeing a halfling on the roster of the latest caravan that had arrived. 

He hadn’t though much of it at the time, besides a mild curiosity on what a child of the West was doing so far East, but he had quickly forgotten it as other topics flowed over his desk. How curious, . . . but still not what he was looking for. He sighed once again and gave up for the night, resolving to come back to his post the next evening. 

And he did. That evening, and the One after that. And the one after that. And the one after that one. By the fifth evening, it was fair to say that his excitement and morale had taken a turn for the worse. He stood leaning against the statue at his usual post, glowering at everyone who passed by. 

It was always the same people! The same late working crowds that left around the same time every evening, occasionally he would spot someone new, a new employee or possibly just someone he had failed to spot on a previous night. But, for the most part, they were all the same! So why was no one sticking out to him?!

Had it just been a chance encounter? Had they just happen to have business that kept them late at the castle that particular time? Was it a one time thing? He refused to believe that! He couldn’t! If he accepted that was the case, he was back to where he started, searching for one person in the whole of Erebor who could complete him and nothing to help him narrow it down! 

How was he supposed to find them? He was the prince! He had duties and responsibilities . . and was a whole lot easier to find than some random commoner! They should be seeking him out! All it would take is a handful of words and they’d get fast tracked right to him for confirmation! 

He growled inwardly and bonked his head against the statue's base, doing his best not to be swallowed up in despair. The only thing worse than wondering if you had a One was knowing you did and being unable to find them. In a city the size of Erebor, one could go their entire life without meeting everyone in it, even if they tried. If this didn’t work out, he didn’t know what to do next.

A small crowd passed through the courtyard and a head of bouncy curls caught his attention. It was the halfling again. He definitely worked in the castle because he always passed through in the evening, though some times later than others. 

Thorin’s eyes seemed to followed him (he was male by his best guess) of their own volition, everyone else in the vicinity fading out of focus as he studied every detail he could make out in the torchlight. His gaze slid down over him as if transfixed, almost hungrily. A startling sensation stirred low in his belly and he looked away quickly. 

“Ye still doin’ this?” A familiar voice questioned from behind him making him jump. Dwalin wasn’t that quiet. Was he really so fixated on the halfling that he hadn’t heard him coming? No wonder he hadn’t found his One if he was so easily distracted. 

“What do you want? Adad send you to spy on me?” He grumbled.

“Well, ye did skip dinner. Twice.”

“I’m not required to be there every day.” He growled. “I have more important things to do.”

“Right. Like stand here and scowl at all the servants as they leave. What _are_ ye doing, anyway?”

Thorin sighed, annoyed and discouraged. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened. He could trust Dwalin and it would feel good to talk about it and share some of his frustration. “Remember that night several days ago when we went drinking?”

“Ye mean the one when ye were whinin’ about the ball?”

“I wasn’t whining.” Thorin glared. 

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Yes! That night.” He paused as a few servants passed by. “I felt them. That night. Crossing this bridge.”

“Felt what?” Dwalin asked looking part disgusted and part alarmed. “I knew somethin’ was off with ye!”

“My One.” Thorin cut him off before he could go any further with that thought. “We must have . . brushed by each other. I felt them like a jolt of energy through my veins.” He flexed his hand, trying to recall the feeling. The memory was more a knowledge than a feeling now

“Mahal!” Dwalin breathed. “Why didn’t ye say anything?! We could have recalled the whole crowd back and figured out who it was!”

Thorin shot him an annoyed look. He hadn’t thought of that. He just assumed he’d get another chance to meet them. “I . . . didn’t think of that.” He reluctantly admitted quietly.

“So, what? Yer out here waiting to recognize them based on a touch? Wait. Does that mean they work at the castle? They’ve been under yer nose this whole time?”

“That’s what I thought.” Or hoped. “But no one is sticking out to me.”

“Well, ye are kinda dense.” Thorin sent him an exasperated and frustrated look. “Well, ye are! They’ve probably been right in front of ye all this time and ye haven’t noticed them. What makes ye think ye’ll recognize them now?”

Thorin scowled. He figured he’d been able to recognize them after having felt them. “Shouldn’t they at least catch my eye?!” He replied defensively. “If they are my other half and the perfect match for me, shouldn’t I at least be attracted to them?!”

Dwalin shrugged. “A lot of dwarrow don’t feel attraction until they recognize their One.”

Thorin rolled his eyes in frustration. “Then how am I supposed to bloody find them?!” He growled. 

“Beats me.” Dwalin shrugged again. “Ye could set up a security checkpoint and make all the servants stop for mandatory security checks before they leave in the evening. That’d give ye an excuse to touch them.” 

Thorin scowled harder. He could do that, but it would attract a lot of attention. “We can talk about it tomorrow. It’s getting late. . . . Don’t tell _anyone_.” He almost forgot to warn.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dwalin waved him off. “But we’ll talk about it some more tomorrow. We haven’t sparred in days. Yer gonna start gettin' rusty.” He punched him lightly as he teased. 

“Shut up.” Thorin returned. “I can still take you.” They exchanged jabs as they headed back into the castle.

The next morning he struggled to keep his mind on the papers in front of him. How could he focus on such meaningless drivel like mine evaluations and production estimates when his One was out there waiting for him?! 

He didn't even make it to lunch time before he was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and throwing all the documents to the side. It's not like anything urgent was ever dropped onto his desk. He gathered them up in a messy pile and abandoned them. He needed to go work off some frustration. Maybe then he could focus.

He stopped by his rooms to throw on something spar worthy then headed towards the barracks to find Dwalin. He didn't bother to suppress the fierce scowl that accompanied him all the way there, grateful for the path that cleared before him.

"Dwalin!" He barked when he spotted the head guard training one of the newer recruits. "The training arena! Now!" He ordered, something he didn't do with Dwalin often.

Dawlin just smirked and obeyed. He probably knew it was coming after their talk the night before. They both grabbed a weapon on their way, neither of them bothering to stop and equip any armor. The fight was always more thrilling when the stakes were higher and they were so evenly matched, they rarely landed hits on each other anyway.

Almost as soon as they were in the ring, Thorin flew at him, channeling all his suppressed frustration and discouragement into anger and energy. Dwalin deflected, expecting the charge, and they began a deadly dance of swings, dodges and parries.

A crowd of soldiers and trainees alike congregated around the ring to watch the two warriors battle. Neither of them held back. The best part of sparring each other was that they didn't have to. They fought evenly matched for what felt like hours as they slowly began to tire. Despite the small tremble developing in his arms, Thorin continued to push himself. He wouldn't be satisfied until he couldn't lift his arms anymore.

"C'mon. Yer gettin' tired. Let's call it a day." Dwalin advised as he parried his cousin's attack once again.

"You say it like I'm the only one who's tiring." Thorin swung hard in another attack. 

"We're both gettin' tired. Mean's more chances of mistakes." Dwalin dodged and retaliated with a swing of his own.

"What am I supposed to do Dwalin?!" Thorin bellowed back with a parry.

"Ye ain't gonna get an answer from swingin' yer sword around." Dwalin parried again.

"I'm not getting an answer anywhere!" Thorin attacked again but his mind strayed to his discouragement in finding his One and he almost didn't parry Dwalin's next attack in time. As it was, he deflected it late. Dwalin's sword bounced off his own at a bad angle and clipped his arm. He grabbed his arm with a string of curses. How could he let himself get so distracted?!

"Ye all right?!" Dwalin was by his side in seconds.

"I'm fine!" He returned, irritated by letting himself get clipped in the first place.

"Look. I know yer frustrated and want ta work it out, but ye ain't gonna find any answers here." 

"Then what should I do, Dwalin, since you seem to have it all figured out?!" Thorin snapped back, holding his arm to slow the bleeding.

"I told ye what I'd do! Set up that security station. It's not like ye need an excuse to take castle security seriously. If anyone asks, just tell 'em ye had reasons ta be concerned."

"And what, force every servant to pass through to shake my hand. Nothing suspicious about that." He retorted sarcastically. 

"Who cares if it's suspicious? Yer the bloody crown prince! Who's gonna say anything?" Dwalin shoved him in his good arm.

Thorin sighed. He was running out of ideas and he wasn't about to keep doing what he was if it wasn't getting him anywhere. "Fine." He grumbled. "We still need a backup excuse in case the king hears of it and want's to know what's going on."

"Yeah, yeah. But first, we're taking ye to the infirmary and gettin' that patched up. Hey, how's it feel to lose?" Dwalin shoved him again playfully.

Thorin grunted and shoved back harder. "Who said I lost? It was a mutual forfeit."

"Yeah, but I didn't get hit."

"It could still happen." Thorin threatened as they left the ring. Such a little nick didn't even count as a hit anyway. He would get Oin to patch him up quickly so they could make plans for that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin goes to the infirmary to get his cut treated. Guess who's assigned to take care of him~ 😉😁


	4. A Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! 😁

They bickered light-heartedly as they walked to the infirmary. A minor wound like this was more an annoyance than anything, but neither Dwalin nor Oin would give him any peace if he didn’t get it treated properly. 

They let themselves in, pausing their superficial conflict for later. “Oin! I’m in need of your attention.” Thorin announced, eager to get it over with so he could move on to more important things.

“Severity?” Oin marched over eying him. 

“It’s just a cut.” Thorin shrugged. 

“Aye? I could ‘cut’ yer limbs off, so be a bit more specific.”

“It’s just a scrape really.” Thorin grunted when the healer roughly ripped open the sleeve of his tunic to get a look at the wound.

“Aye. Not that bad. There’s a free cot over there.” Oin pointed. For something like this, there wasn’t any point in dirtying the royal ward. “Baggins! Take care of this one!” Oin shouted over the ward in no particular direction and walked away. 

‘Baggins?’ That wasn't a dwarven name. 

“Yes, sir!” A distinctly non-dwarven voice responded and Thorin looked up as he sat in time to see a halfling emerge from one of the back rooms. A halfling? Working in the medical ward? A quick examination confirmed that, yes, it was the very same halfling he had watched leave the castle the past several nights. Wait. Why was Oin sending a halfling to tend to him? 

He had a mind to be offended. He was the crown prince not some miner. Shouldn’t he warrant someone a little more skilled than a ward assistant? He huffed it out. It didn't really matter as long as it got done, and he could carry on with his business. 

The small being stopped at the washing station, hopping up onto a stool to wash his hands thoroughly. “Affliction?” He shot back to the old healer.

“Flesh wound. Possibly minor stitching,” Oin returned without missing a beat as he bustled around the room.

The halfling nodded, drying his hands, and hopped down to fetch a water basin, some fresh hot water, and some clean cloths. Thorin saw him pocket something else as well, but it was too small for him to make out. 

The halfling grabbed a small cart and wheeled over his supplies. Realizing he was watching the halfling's every move far to intently, Thorin looked away. 

“My name’s Bilbo Baggins, but you can just call me Bilbo. You’re right arm, is it?” The halfling introduced himself with minimal eye contact. “Let’s get you patched up and on your way, shall we?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.” Thorin was impressed by his professionalism and found himself curious about the halfling’s skill. He hadn’t expected much. 

Bilbo cast a brief glance up through his lashes, and Thorin’s heart skipped a beat. Where all halflings this cute? He was so exotic. His smaller, delicate features gave him a youthful look. His hair was much lighter in the brightness of the ward. It’s golden tint almost glowed in the light. 

“Can you, um, roll up your sleeve or should I just cut it off?” The halfling looked more nervous than before, and Thorin realized he'd been staring again. 

He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze. “Just cut it. It’s easy enough to replace.” 

Bilbo nodded. “One moment then.” He headed back over to the supply shelf to grab a pair of scissors. “If you could--Yes, thank you. Let’s, uh, let’s see how bad it is.” He carefully cut the fabric a couple inches above the wound, making sure not to nick Thorin’s arm in the process, and gently slipped it off. 

“Oh, it doesn’t look so bad.” Bilbo examined and dipped a cloth into the basin to begin washing. Carefully cleaning around the wound, his strokes were firm and precise. 

Thorin found himself staring again and tore his gaze away. What was with him? Was the halfling that fascinating? “I've never seen a halfling in Erebor. What brings you this far East?” He attempted to break the awkward silence and do something other than intimidate his healer. 

“You still haven’t, I imagine.”

“What?” Thorin furrowed his brow. He was sure the small creature before him was a halfling. “Aren’t you a halfling?”

“I assure you I’m not half of anything. I happen to be one whole hobbit,” Bilbo informed casually as he rinsed the cloth. 

Thorin raised a brow, once again impressed but by his cheek. The . . . hobbit had more spine than he anticipated. “Hobbit then. What brings a hobbit to Erebor?”

“Opportunities.” 

‘“‘Opportunities?’” Thorin echoed the vague answer. It might make sense for a dwarf but ~~half~~ -hobbits didn’t travel across half the world for better opportunities. “I’m afraid you won’t find many lush fields here.” He had passed through the Shire once or twice in his travels. It was unique in its serenity and fertility. 

“I assure you, we hobbits are capable of more than just farming. . . Um, I’m going to need to clean the wound itself now, so I’ll, um, . . . have to touch you. Please let me know of anything makes you . . . uncomfortable.” Bilbo's cheeks reddened bashfully. 

Thorin scowled in confusion. Healers didn’t need to announce their touch. It was expected, part of the job, but the hobbit seemed to be waiting for permission to continue. “All right.”

Bilbo wrung out his cloth and readied it. One small hand landed tentatively on Thorin’s arm to steady it and spread the wound for easier access. Burning pulses of energy suddenly shot through Thorin's nerves, renewing with every press of the hobbit’s fingertips. 

The air left him in a soft whoosh as the assault continued with the prolonged skin to skin contact. He didn’t even feel the pain of his cut as Bilbo carefully cleaned it out. All he could feel was his entire being, his soul, rejoicing at being reunited with it’s other half. 

Finally, the hobbit released him, and the constant surge of energy died down, leaving almost his entire body tingling. Thorin gasped, able to breath again. 

“Are you all right?” The Bilbo's voice broke through his awed trance, and Thorin stared with new eyes. No wonder he couldn’t stop staring! The hobbit-- _his_ hobbit--was beautiful! Those bashful glances only made him more adorable! How had he not seen it before? No, he knew why. He never imagined his One could be a hobbit!

“I need you to respond, or I’ll have to fetch Oin.” The concern in his One's voice grew.

Thorin cleared his throat and grunted out a response. How could his One be so unaffected after that? He could barely breath. 

“Are you sure you’re all right? If you’re going into shock, I need to fetch Oin.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin assured, still stunned by his discovery. His One! Right here in front of him! And all he had to do was get nicked in the training arena! “You’re-“

“A hobbit. Yes, we’ve established that. Who are you? Can you tell me your name? What are you feeling right now? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“What? Thorin. What? Three. I feel . . . great!” Thorin was baffled by the response. Did-did Bilbo not feel it? But the touch was fool proof!

“All right. Have you . . . used any recreational substances recently?” Bilbo lowered his voice.

“Wha-I’m not on drugs!” Thorin growled back, in place of a whisper. 

“All right! You’re just . . . acting very strange. I needed to make sure.” The hobbit shook his hands defensively. 

Thorin immediately regretted his reaction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so aggressive.” He didn't want to intimidate his One.

“It’s fine.” Despite his words, the hobbit's demeanor was still timid. 

“Did you . . . not feel anything?”

“Feel what?” Bilbo met his eyes longer than he had before, but there was unease and suspicion in them. Not the recognition Thorin hoped to see. 

“Nothing,” Thorin sighed. “I apologize for distracting you.

Bilbo eyed him for a few more moments before lowering his eyes again. “Are you a soldier? This could heal without stitches if you don’t need to use your arm for anything rigorous for awhile, but, if you need the use of your arm, I would advise stitches.”

“Actually, I’m . . . “ Thorin stopped, internally panicking at his One not recognizing him. “Yes, I’m part of the royal guard.” He covered quickly. If Bilbo didn’t recognize him, then he’d likely distance himself even more if he knew Thorin was royalty.

“Stitches it is then.” Bilbo fished a sewing kit from his pocket. “Let me clean up and sterilize this , and I’ll be right back.” He wandered off. 

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to figure out what to do next. He hadn’t anticipated not being recognized or having a hobbit for a One for that matter. It changed everything. 

“Hey, ye all right?” Dwalin’s voice snapped him out of his frantic speculations. He must have stalked over after Bilbo had left. 

“No.” Thorin was even more lost now than before. 

“What’s wrong.” Dwalin scanned suspiciously for the hobbit. 

“Leave him alone. I’ll tell you later,” Thorin muttered as Bilbo came back. 

“Is everything a-all right?” The hobbit gave Dwalin a few nervous glances, the big dwarf scowling over his crossed arms. 

Thorin waved his friend away. “I’m almost done. Go wait by the door.” With one more suspicious glance, Dwalin obeyed. 

“A friend of yours?” Bilbo's hands shook as he tired to thread a needle. 

“Aye. Friend and cousin.”

“You work together?” The hobbit sent another timid look at the dwarf. 

“Aye.”

“That must be nice.” Bilbo seemed to relax slightly. “Are you ready?”

Thorin nodded and braced for the oncoming assault. It wasn't quite as intense this time. Perhaps he was growing accustomed to it, but the underlying excitement and warmth was more discernible and lingered longer after Bilbo’s touch had disappeared. Thorin hadn’t even felt the needle. 

“There. I’ll dab some honey and wrap it up, and you’ll be good to go.” Bilbo set the used needle in a small metal tray and picked up a jar of honey and a swab. 

The sensations returned as Bilbo wrapped Thorin's arm but there were only little bursts here and there where their skin happened to touch. “There you go. All done. Sorry it took longer than I planned. You, uh, scared be for a bit there.” He chuckled nervously. “If you experience any fever, increased redness or swelling, be sure to come back. Infections can be more dangerous than the wound itself.” He advised as he collected his supplies. “Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave?” 

Thorin wanted to say yes. He wanted to say many things. “No. Thank you for your time.” But he didn’t know what he _should_ say. He needed time to think. 

“Of course. Be careful out there.” The hobbit bid him farewell and wheeled away the cart to take care of his supplies. 

It felt like he was ripping at a part of his soul as Thorin tore himself away the medical ward, forcing himself to leave and act casual when all he wanted to do was follow his One around until he was recognized. 

Grunting a tense order at Dwalin, he bid his cousin to follow as he left. He didn’t want Dwalin lingering and intimidating his One. He couldn’t think clearly. The loss of walking away from his other half with nothing resolved made his chest ache and his soul yearn even more. He needed to get someplace quiet. He needed to think. His feet carried him back to the privacy of his rooms. 

He barely registered Dwalin talking at him as they marched through the castle halls, but he had neither the focus nor interest to respond. He had every intention of leaving his friend at the door, but Dwalin stuck his heavy booted foot in the doorway before Thorin could shut it. 

“I ain’t leavin’ 'till ye tell me what’s goin’ on,” he growled as he pushed his way into Thorin’s chambers. 

Thorin barely had the presence of mind to glare, but he soon forgot about his gruff cousin as his thoughts delved back into his new problem. He started pacing, trying to make sense of his situation. Dwalin might have still been yelling at him. 

The guard finally had enough and grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing Thorin to face him. “Wake up, damn it! Ye ain’t actin’ normal! What happened in there? What about findin’ yer One?” Dwalin tried to shake him out of his daze. 

“I found him! That’s what happened!” Thorin knocked his friend’s hands away. “He didn’t recognize me Dwalin!”

“What are ye talking about? In the infirmary? How do ya know?”

“He was touching me! My arm was practically on fire! How could I not have noticed?”

“What? No one touched ye except . . . Oin?” Dwalin's nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“What? No! How did you- No!” Thorin waved the suggestion away equally disgusted. “He's been my healer for years!”

“Then who- . . . Wait. The halfling?” At least Dwalin sounded more confused that disgusted. 

“Yes!” Thorin groaned through his hands as he rubbed at his face in frustration. 

“The halfling?” Dwalin repeated curiously. 

“He didn’t feel anything, Dwalin!”

“A _halfling_?” 

“Will you stop saying that! And he’s not a halfling! He’s a _hobbit_!”

Dwalin’s face twisted into something half incredulous and half disbelieving. “What?” 

“‘Halfling’ is an insult apparently. He prefers ‘hobbit.'” 

“But a _halfling_?!”

“Will you stop that?!”

“Fine! Hobbit then! But why a hobbit?”

“How should I know?” Thorin threw his hands in the air in frustration. “What am I supposed to do now? We touched, and he still didn’t recognize me! He was almost . . . afraid of me.”

“Well . . . ye ain’t gonna just give up, are ye?”

“What?! Of course not! He's my One! The other half of my very soul! I will not be complete without him!” Thorin bellowed back, offended at the mere suggestion. 

“All right. Then ye just need to re-strategize. At least ye know who he is, and where ta find him.”

Thorin sighed, grasping for what progress he had made to help calm himself. “Aye. But he doesn’t recognize me.”

Dwalin shrugged. “So, men don’t have One’s. They still marry. Maybe hobbits don’t either. Just mean’s you’ll have to woo him the hobbit way.” 

“I don’t know anything about hobbits! Only that they grow excellent pipe weed and hardly ever leave their Shire! What if he’s not even single?” Thorin remember the doll-like figure that always trotted along with his One when he left in the evenings. What if his One was already married? With children?! The thought pierced his chest like a lance, and his legs wobbled. He collapsed into a nearby chair before they could give out, burying his head in his hands. 

Why was Mahal taunting him this way? By giving him a hobbit One? A One who wouldn’t recognize him? Who could already belong to someone’s else? Years of frustration and despair welled up in his eyes and fought to fall. It would be too much to bear if he could only ever watch his One from afar. 

“Hey. Ye don’t know that.” Dwalin’s voice softened uncharacteristically, and he placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder in support. “Don’t be givin’ up before ye even know the facts.”

Thorin dug his palms into his eyes to dislodge the growing tears before carding his hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “What do I do, Dwalin? It hurts too much to think.”

His friend squeezed his shoulder. “It’s just another challenge, aye? Ye can’t let it best ye. It’s like any other battle. Ye start by knowing yer enemy.” 

Thorin huffed. Leave it to Dwalin to compare courting your One to fighting a battle. But he was right. If Thorin was going to have any hope of winning his hobbit’s heart, he needed to know more. Like whether he was actually available for starters. “Your right.” 

After another moment of thought he stood suddenly. “We have work to do.” He headed for the door. 

“Aye.” Dwalin followed him out. 

Thorin speed-walked straight to his study, grabbing a servant along the way and ordering them to send for Balin. The servant took off running. Thorin burst into his study, his mission renewed. His One was within reach! He just needed to court him and earn his heart. And wouldn’t that just make it all the more worth having? Things of great value must be worked for after all.

He sat down at his desk and tried to remember where he put the roster for the latest caravan where he had seen the hobbit listed. Balin arrive while he was still digging through his desk after the papers. 

“You’re highness. You sent for me?”

“Drop the titles, Balin. I need your help.” 

“Very well. What can I do for you?”

“I need every document, every piece of information on the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. I want everything on record.” 

“A hobbit?” Balin echoed curiously. “I have heard rumors of one working in the castle, but I hardly think he’s a threat.”

“I’m not implying he’s a threat. I simply want every bit of information we have on him.”

“And may I ask what for?”

“No.” Thorin slammed a drawer shut when he still couldn’t find the roster he was looking for. Thankfully, there would be another copy of it in the records. “Can you do it or not, Balin?”

Balin sent his brother a curious glance but Dwalin just shrugged, keeping the secret. “Of course. I will set the record keepers to searching immediately.”

Thorin groaned in frustration. “That could take days.” 

“Most likely, aye. Is this a matter of urgency?”

“No and yes,” Thorin sighed. “It is urgent to me, but it isn’t an official matter. Just find me the documents as quickly as possible. He only arrived about three weeks ago so that should narrow down the search.”

“Aye. I will get them to work and hopefully have the papers you desire within the next couple days.”

“Thank you, Balin,” Thorin returned as Balin sketched a loose bow and left. 

“Now what? We really gonna sit around and wait?” Dwalin wondered. 

“Of course not.” Thorin replied irritably, also lost as to what to do next. “I . . . want to see him again.”

“Ye ain’t hurtin’ yerself just so ye can go back to the infirmary.”

Thorin glared. “I’m the crown prince. I don’t need an excuse to go to the infirmary.” 

“Aye.” Dwalin smirked as Thorin got up. “And what are ye gonna say once ye get there?” 

Thorin paused on his way to the door, realizing he still hadn’t changed. He could at least make himself more presentable. “I’ll . . . figure it out when we get there.”

“Sure, ye will.” Dwalin chuckled and followed his prince out of the office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Between trying to be noticed by his hobbit and floundering to think of conversation topics, Thorin is still desperately trying to connect with his One. At least he has Dwalin to support (and make fun of) him along the way as he struggles to make progress.


	5. Another Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's five Mondays this month! That means I'm running a poll for what bonus chapters I'll be releasing on August 31st. Be sure to check it out [here](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/625603149102759936/5th-monday-bonus-poll) and get in your votes! If for some reason you can respond on tumbler, you can always leave your votes in a comment. Please refer to the post for a list of available fics. 🥰
> 
> (Oh, hey. I finally learned I could pin posts, so it should be easy to find if you go to my [tumblr](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/). 😆😅)

They returned to Thorin’s private chambers. Dwalin waited by the door with much eye rolling as the crown prince agonized over what he should wear, making several trips to ask Dwalin's opinion. 

Thorin tried three different outfits before he finally decided on one. He wanted to demonstrate his wealth but couldn't go so far as to give away his lie about being a soldier. It was a delicate balance, but he needed to get the hobbit’s attention. What better way than to show off that he had the means to be a good provider. He picked something that avoided any blatant royal associations, but suggested he was a soldier of noble birth. He needed to deal with his royal braid, of course, but a few extra braids with gems worked well enough to hide it.

“It’s about bloody time!” Dwalin complained as his best friend finally emerged, raising a brow at Thorin’s obvious attempts to be eye catching, 

“Do you think he’ll notice me?” 

“Oh, Aye. Unless he’s blind, he won’t have a choice.”

“Shut up.” Thorin scowled. Perhaps he could have went with fewer gems. “Come on.”

“Aye.” Dwalin shook his head and followed. 

Unfortunately, Thorin's lavish choice in clothes backfired almost immediately. He was certainly eye-catching, and every noble and official they came across spotted him. He tried to deal with them quickly, but, before he knew it, he was being summoned for dinner at the queen’s insistence. 

Brooding quietly through the whole meal, he ignored the compliments and . . . other comments on his flashy appearance, offering short, uninterested answered to any questions directed his way. He endured the suspicious gazes and questions for as long as he felt necessary before promptly excusing himself, ignoring their speculative murmurs. Nearly dragging Dwalin away from his plate, he was determined to make it to the infirmary while most workers were still on dinner break. 

He sighed in part frustration and part relief when they finally arrived. Stopping outside the door, Thorin took a moment to collect himself. 

“What ye waitin’ for?” Dwalin gestured to the door. "Ye yanked me away from good food for this." 

“Nothing.” Thorin glared. So what if he needed a moment? It wasn’t every day a dwarf wasn’t recognized by his soul’s other half! Taking one more deep breath, he burst into the infirmary. The doors smacked the walls before swinging closed again. He glanced back sheepishly as they continued to swing on their hinges. 

Oin was sitting at a work table nearby looking thoroughly unimpressed. Save for a stray healer here and there still tending to the few lingering patients, the ward was largely empty. “Aye?” The Master Healer barked, waiting for an explanation for the explosive entrance. 

“Uh. . ." Thorin floundered, belatedly realizing that, between his official get up and how he was bursting in, demanding to see the hobbit could be misconstrued as an intent to arrest. It was probably a good thing Bilbo wasn’t around to see his performance. Thorin might have scared him off for good. 

Because he wasn’t. There was no delightfully curly head sticking out anywhere in the room. Clearing his throat, he made sure to tone it back a notch. “I was wondering if I might speak with . . . the healer Bilbo Baggins.” He approached his healer. 

“Ye ‘ave a complaint?” Oin turned back to the papers he was working on. “I’ll take any complaints directly.” 

“No!” Getting his hobbit in trouble was the last thing he wanted. “No,” Thorin repeated when Oin raised a brow again. “He did excellent work. I . . . merely wished to thank him.”

“I’ll pass on yer gratitude.” 

“Actually, I'd like to tell him myself. When will he be back?”

“Tomorrow.” Oin eyed the crown prince. 

“Tomorrow? But the day’s barely over?” He deflated with disappointment. He was too late after all. 

“Aye. He only works in the afternoons.”

“Afternoons?” Then Thorin would have likely missed him anyway. “Only the afternoons?” That didn’t seem enough to support a family.

“Aye. He works elsewhere in the mornings and evenings.” Oin answered distractedly as he resumed scanning the documents.

“Do you know where he works?” Thorin perked up. Maybe he could still see him.

Oin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Nay. I didn’t ask. Why do ye want to know?”

“As I said, I wish to thank him.” Thorin shifted under the healer’s scrutiny. 

“Ye can tell 'im tomorrow. Ye best not be givin’ 'im any trouble.” Oin pointed with a thick finger. “He’s a good worker--good healer. I won’t tolerate ye harrassin’ the poor lad.”

“No. I have no intention of doing any such thing.” Thorin held up his hands in peace. “I merely wish to thank him.”

Studying the prince for a long moment, Oin finally relented. “Fine, but I won’t have ye gettin’ in the way. He’ll be back in tomorrow afternoon.” He glared a final warning. 

“All right. Thank you.” Thorin dipped his head and made his retreat. 

“Well, so much for that.” Dwalin followed as they left. 

“Shut up,” Thorin growled. Disheartened that he wasn’t going to see his One again until tomorrow, he stalked to his study. He deposited himself heavily into his seat with a depressed sigh. All his attempts to impress were wasted. He should have gone straight back to the infirmary and complained that his cut hurt or something. 

“Now what?”

“You heard him. With no other leads, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Thorin lay his head against the back of his chair dejectedly. 

“Or ye could figure out where else he works.”

“I need his records to do that.” Thorin couldn’t even find the roster. Sitting up straighter, he started looking again for lack of anything else to do. 

“Ye could ‘ave asked where he lives. Should be in the castle servant quarters somewhere if he works in the palace.”

“I get the feeling he wouldn’t have told me even if he knew. Oin seems . . . defensive of the hobbit.” Despite knowing it likely stemmed from nothing even akin to romantic interest, Thorin couldn’t help but feel jealous. He should be the one protecting his hobbit. 

“We could ask around.” Dwalin shrugged, undeterred. 

“If I could just find that bloody roster,” Thorin grumbled and searched through his desk again. Suddenly remembering another stack of papers that he’d set aside, he grabbed it off a nearby shelf. “Ah ha!” He exclaimed when he finally found the roster buried in the midst of them. 

“Ye find it?” Dwalin walked over to see. 

“Aye.” Thorin scanned over the numerous names on the roster, looking for the one he wanted. “There he is.” His finger stopped when he came to a 'Bilbo Baggins.’ ‘Halfling.’ Yes, he knew that. Profession? 'Gardner.' Thorin snorted. Whoever filled this out probably just assumed as much. 'Length of visit: permanent.' 'Reason for immigrating: better opportunities.' 'Family,' that’s what he needed. No spouse was listed, but he did have one dependent. No other information was provided. 

“Don’t seem ta be married.” Dwalin observed, reading the document upside down. 

Thorin sighed in relief, a heavy weight he hadn’t realized he'd been carrying easing off his chest. He could still court his One. 

“Has a kid, though. Could be a widower.”

“We don’t know that it’s his,” Thorin countered. “It could be a relative he merely has custody of.” Not that it mattered. Even if the child was Bilbo's, it wouldn’t put him off from pursuing his other half. He was sure he could learn to get past the reminder of his One's previous lover or spouse. It would be a small thing if he could have his One at his side.

“Right," Dwalin returned sarcastically. "Not his, but 'e dragged them all the way to Erebor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Regardless of his past, it seems he's single now, and that's all that matters.”

“If ye say so. Don’t tell ye much else, does it?”

“No. Hopefully Balin will be able to bring me more information. Until then, all I can do is try to see him tomorrow.”

“Aye.” Dwalin nodded. “Ye ain’t gonna wear that again, are ye?” He pointed teasingly at his cousin. 

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Thorin returned defensively. He looked perfectly respectable. 

“Nothin’ if yer tryin’ to catch a noble’s eye. Might not work so well on a halfling though. Bein’ just a bunch of farmers and all.”

Thorin looked down at himself. It was, admittedly, more flamboyant then he personally preferred. But, surely, his One would be impressed by his status. . . Did hobbits have nobles? Maybe it wouldn’t be the best kind of eye-catching. He really needed to know more about hobbits. “Perhaps something more simple would be best.” He could at least start out more neutrally until he knew more. 

“Aye.” Dwalin smirked. 

Thorin glared mildly but quickly moved on. He needed to check the royal library. Maybe they would have something about hobbit culture. Sighing, he realized there was little more he could do for the day. He spotted the pile of paperwork he had put off earlier and reluctantly pulled it over. If he couldn’t be doing what he wanted, then he might as get some work done. 

The next morning, he was busy as well, catching up and getting ahead. Determined to see his hobbit that afternoon, he wasn't going to let anything get in his way. He flew through the paperwork from the day before before and tackled the current day's work with fervor. Finishing just before lunch, he decided to grab something light to eat before heading to the medical ward. 

His plain attire allowed him to pass through largely unnoticed to the kitchens. The simple clothes made a huge difference. He ordered something small to be made and ate quickly. It was still barely lunch time when he finished, meaning he had time to bide. 

He wandered to the barracks next to see Dwalin. Never before had he felt the need for moral support so strongly. But he was honest enough to admit he was way out of his depth dealing with a hobbit One who didn’t even acknowledge him. A rejection would have been easier. Heartbreaking, but easier.

“Are ye kiddin’?!” Dwalin barked in laughter shortly after Thorin had arrived. “And miss the chance ta watch ye fallin’ all over yerself over some hobbit? Wouldn’t miss It!” 

Thorin rolled his eyes but was too grateful for the backup to change his mind. Dwalin made fun, but he’d do whatever he could to pull Thorin’s arse out of a jam if the need arose. Of course, Thorin wouldn’t hear the end of it for a good long while, but he figured it was a decent price to pay for a reliable friend. 

“Then hurry up, or I’ll go without you,” Thorin bluffed. He didn't think Bilbo would even be there yet.

“Aye, aye.” Dwalin drawled as he finished his morning duties. Ten minutes later, they were headed back to the infirmary, and Thorin couldn't seem to shake the growing nervousness. The last thing he wanted was to chase his One away somehow. He needed to be calm, and, more importantly, not say anything stupid.

Sharing a look with his best friend as they approached the infirmary, he made a conscious decision to enter more quietly. They followed a floppy-hatted miner and caught the door, pushing it open just enough to slip into the ward. 

No one noticed them at first, the jovial miner ahead of them attracting most of the healers’ spare attention. 

“Bilbo!” The miner exclaimed and instantly received Thorin’s focus as well. Thorin's eyes narrowed as he spotted his curly haired hobbit approach at the call. 

“Bofur? Is everything all right?” Bilbo asked with concern, still drying his hands. 

“Oh, aye! Just came to let you know that stuff ya made for me hands works miracles! They ain’t felt this good in decades!” The Bofur fellow declared. “You're in the wrong business! You should be selling miracle drugs!”

“Oh, well, I’m glad it’s working for you. Let me know when you run low, and I’ll whip up another batch.” Bilbo rolled up his sleeves. Thorin couldn’t help but notice how small and delicate his wrists were.

“Aye. I know ya didn’t want any money fer it, and, ta be honest, I don’t have much to offer anyway. But I made ya something, if ya’d take it as payment.” Bofur pulled something out of his coat.

“Oh, n-no. No, thank you. I-I don’t need any kind of payment.” Bilbo looked distinctly uncomfortable by the gift. 

“What is it this time?” Oin finally noticed the crown prince and his guard lingering by the door and decided to come interrupt his eavesdropping. 

“Nothing. I merely wanted to . . .”

“No! Really. It’s fine. I-I don’t need any kind of payment!” Bilbo waved his hands before him as Bofur tried to convince him to take a small carved figurine. 

”Then it’s not a payment. Think of it as a thank you gift. If not fer you then the wee one.” 

Bilbo shook his head and backed away. “No, really, I d-don’t feel comfortable--" 

Thorin had had enough. He pushed past Oin with a growl and Dwalin on his heels. “Is there a problem here?” He towered over dwarf and hobbit alike. 

“No, sir,” the jovial dwarf answered readily enough. “Just a friend giving a gift.”

Thorin turned to his One who'd gone quiet and tense. The hobbit sent one intimidated glance up through his lashes before quickly staring at the floor. 

“Just a gift. Ya can give it to yer lass, if ya like.” Bofur held out the likely handmade figure. 

Bilbo remained tense but, after a moments hesitation, slowly reached out and took it. “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” he returned softly, refusing eye contact with anyone in the room. 

“A’ight! Well, I won’t keep ya. Know they keep ya busy in here.” Bofur backed away under Thorin’s threatening glare. “See ya, Bilbo!” He turned and waved as he left. 

Thorin watched the miner leave with disgust. Regardless of its meaning, he didn’t approve of other dwarrow bestowing gifts to his One. The hobbit was his to lavish gifts upon, and no one else’s. 

Recalling that he was still looming threateningly over said hobbit, he looked back to Bilbo and barely caught the timid gaze that had been peering at him before it flitted downward again. 

Bilbo fiddled with the wooden figurine in his hands nervously. “Am I . . . in trouble?”

“No,” Thorin answered quickly. “If he bothers you again, you can report it as harassment. I’ll make sure he's dealt with.”

“H-he wasn’t, really.”

“My apologies if I made you uneasy. It was not my intent.” Thorin deflated from his intimidating stance and put a little more space between them. 

Bilbo nodded, giving an obligatory glance. “Is . . . there something I can help you with?” He asked after finding his composure. 

“Yes. I was wondering if you could redress my wound . . . from yesterday.”

Bilbo took in a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, of course. There’s a free cot right over there. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you.” Thorin did as he was directed and took a seat on the cot. 

“Really?” Dwalin raised a brow as they waited. 

“Shut up.” He couldn’t think of any other reason to be there. He couldn’t exactly say he just wanted to see Bilbo again. The poor hobbit was already so intimidated. He doubted it would be received well. 

“Looks like he’s already got an admirer,” Dwalin said quietly, scanning the room. 

“I noticed.” Thorin growled. Handmade gifts were not given to just anyone. He wondered if his hobbit understood the underlying meaning of the small gift he’d receive. Though Bilbo had seemed adamant against taking it before Thorin arrived. Had he feared some kind of punishment for refusing? 

A few moment’s later, Bilbo was walking toward him with his supplies, and Thorin discretely waved Dwalin away. 

“Has there been any redness or swelling?” Bilbo asked softly, arriving with his little cart of supplies. 

“Uh, honestly I haven’t really checked it,” Thorin admitted. He’d been to busy with other concerns--primarily how to court a hobbit--to pay it any mind. 

“Could you roll up your sleeve, please.”

“Of course.” Thorin quickly obliged, revealing his still bandaged arm as Bilbo prepared a damp cloth. Slowly unwrapping the wound, Bilbo sent little burst of tingling energy wherever he touched. 

“I came back yesterday to thank you for your excellent work, but you weren’t here.” Thorin forced himself to speak, determined not to waste this opportunity. 

Bilbo glanced up quickly, before returning his focus to his work. “I only work here in the afternoons. Besides, I really didn’t do much.”

“But you did it well. I heard that you work elsewhere in the evenings.” Thorin tried to keep his eyes forward to avoid inevitably staring at his beautiful One. 

“Yes.” A hint of suspicion seeped into the hobbit's voice. 

“And where is that, if I may ask?” The worst answer Thorin could get was no answer. 

“I, um, . . .” Bilbo looked troubled. “I . . . I-I prefer not to share private information.” 

“I didn’t realize where you worked was private information,” Thorin returned carefully.

“I suppose that depends on why you wish to know. I’m sure if you had an . . . official reason, you could have looked up the information in the palace records.”

Thorin wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Bilbo was right, of course. He couldn't admit to already having the information sought out without causing more suspicion, but he also really wanted to know. “I’m simply curious.” 

“And I’m simply uncomfortable with sharing personal information,” The hobbit replied apologetically. “As a lone hobbit in a city of dwarrow, I find I can’t be too careful.”

“Careful of what?” It’s not as if they were men. Dwarrow were an honorable people. 

Bilbo sent him another glance and wrapped his arm. “Unwanted attention.” He tied it off. “You are . . . welcome to come back if you need any further help, but I’m afraid I have other work to take care of.” He gathered his supplies. “Have a good day.” He left before Thorin could reply. 

Sighing, Thorin internally berated himself for accomplishing absolutely nothing. He got up and glared at his friend before pushing through the ward doors. He was going to need to reconsider his approach . . . again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin temporarily gives up trying to see his hobbit and resolves to learn more about his One instead. He visits the library but his depression deepens when it has little to offer. Finally, he finds a ray of hope in a young scribe.


	6. A Library Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fifth Monday! Enjoy your top picks for this month's bonus updates! 🥰

Thorin's mood wasn’t any better the next day as he sat at his desk and forced his way through the stack of documents that had been delivered for his attention. After brainstorming all evening for another means of approaching or even learning about his hobbit, he still hadn't come up with anything. His glare was dark and his mood darker. He glowered at the offending papers keeping him from pursuing his One.

“Ye could just tell ‘im.” Dwalin suggested, tapping on the stone chair he was seated in with his ax in the most annoying way possible. 

“He doesn’t trust me. He's bloody scared of me! Why would he believe me?” Thorin scowled at the continued tapping.

“Well, it’s better than sittin' here in yer little, coal dust cloud. You're startin’ ta make me depressed.”

“I apologize that the inability to unite with the other half of my being is discomforting you.”

Dwalin snorted and finally put away his ax. “Listen to ye! Given up already, have ye?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what ye sittin’ here broodin' for?”

“I’m open to suggestions that don’t result in him refusing to have anything to do with me. You haven’t exactly offered any useful ideas. It doesn’t help that every morning I have a pile of this pointless drivel to deal with! I have more important things to do than monitor what percentage of which mine’s proceeds go to whom!” Thorin slammed his hand on the desk in frustration. He’d never begrudged the work before, but it rankled him now when he had a One to figure out.

“Then tell the king ye need a break. Tell ‘im ye need to go dig a few wild mines before ye settle to take the throne.” 

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face with a groan. “Why would he believe that? I’ve shown no such interests. Besides, there’s a ball coming up. Amad and Dis have warned me that they already sent out the invitations.”

“Already?”

“They said they had to move fast so I wouldn’t change my mind. It’s in less than two weeks. They won’t let me out of my duties before then.” 

“Well, have ye checked the library yet?”

“No, I’m going this evening, and I’m still waiting on the documents from Balin.” Thorin sighed. 

“Well, I ain’t any more fond o’ waitin’ than ye. Ye know where ta find me if ye think of somethin’.” Dwalin stood, giving up his vigil of support. He couldn’t just sit around forever. He had work too. 

Thorin hummed an affirmative and forced himself to get back to work. Frequently daydreaming of a small, soft figure with wild curls that could've been cast from bronze and eyes carved from the greenest emeralds, he inevitably finished late. He set the last page aside and buried his face in his hands with a groan. What was he supposed to do?

He noted with some annoyance that it was almost dinner time and distractedly walked to his room to get ready. Attending the meal with his family, he was tuned out for most of it. He faintly remembered his mother and sister talking about the upcoming ball and possibly about an outfit they were having made for him, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to pay attention. 

When he dismissed himself after barely touching his plate, he thought he heard a few concerned queries but ignored them. They didn’t pursue, so he continued on his way. His feet took him eventually to the great royal library, and he perked up at the prospect of finally finding something useful. Ambling in, he sought out a one of the bookkeepers. 

“May I help you, sire?” One of the older scribes spotted him.

“Yes, I was wondering if we had any books about hob-halflings.” He caught himself, and switched to the term that would be more familiar. 

“Halflings?” The old scribe repeated with a chuckle. “Not much to learn about such a simple people, I’m afraid.”

“Do we have any books or not?” Thorin snapped, offended by the slight of his One’s people. 

“Yes, of course. Not many, but a few. As I said, there’s not much to know.” The dwarf gestured for him to follow. Leading Thorin to a less maintained corner of the vast library, he directed him to a small shelf with only a handful of books. 

“This is it?” 

“I’m afraid so. Like I said--“

“Yes, I know what you said.” Thorin waved him away dismissively. The scribe nodded, and left him to browse in peace. He pulled one of the few books off the shelf, thumbing through the pages. It seemed to be more focused on the region of the Shire than the people who dwelled there and was full of detailed illustrations. It didn’t seem it would be the most relevant to his interests, so he put it back and tried another. 

After scanning through several, he finally picked one to start with and stopped to let one of the library workers know he was taking it. It was a younger bookkeeper who recorded the loan, and he scoffed before realizing who exactly was checking out the book. Quickly wiping the smirk off his face, he jotted down Thorin's choice properly. 

Thorin sighed. It was no wonder they knew nothing of hobbits. The general understanding was that there was nothing to know. He was ashamed to say he was of much the same opinion before he found his One in a hobbit. Returning to his room, he started researching. 

~~~~~

Thorin slammed the book on his desk in frustration. Five books over the past week, and not a single one of them offered any useful information. Oh, sure, they had plenty to say about the fertility of the Shire lands and the value of their crops. They had lots of notes on the simple agricultural structure of the land and its inhabitants. Some even had a few paragraphs on historically relevant events like the Fell Winter, and there were many suppositions on hobbit culture and nature, but it was all guesses in the end.

He rubbed at his tired eyes. Between keeping up with his usual paperwork, attempting his own research, and fighting the urge to go see his hobbit almost every time he stood on his feet, he wasn’t getting much sleep. The utter lack of any kind of progress was despairing and depressing, yet he had no other recourse. What more could he do?

Checking the time, he found it was late but not that late. Most of the bookkeepers and scribes had probably gone home for the day, but there was usually some low-level worker around to keep an eye on things. Grabbing the book, he slowly meandered to the library for a new one. 

It was all infuriating and frustrating. Balin still hadn’t brought him the records he’d requested. It seemed the scribes Balin had put to the task had failed to understand the urgency of the request and had set the order aside to be done in their own good time. Balin assured Thorin he’d given them all a good scolding and made it clear that finding the information was of upmost importance. That was yesterday. 

He sighed. It felt like everything was working against him. He couldn’t seem to approach his One without intimidating him or seeming suspicious. No one knew anything of hobbits nor considered them knowing apparently. He felt completely and utterly lost, and his mood had become even darker as a result. Suspecting his family was already planning some kind of intervention, he was going out of his way to avoid them as much as possible. 

Wandering into the nearly empty library, he thought the oppressive silence fitting for his slump. There was a young scribe hunched at the main desk. Thorin dropped his current book off in front of him without a word before walking sullenly to the little section of the library he’d become very acquainted with over the past week.

Standing before the sparse shelf, he stared at the books. He’d known the last book he’d grabbed was, in fact, the last book to be read on the topic of hobbits. Yet he’d returned on the misguided hope that a new one would appear in his absence. He simply stood and stared at them, all books he’d read at this point and none of them helpful. 

“Excuse me.” A soft, timid voice broke him from his sullen thoughts, and he turned to it. It was the scribe who’d been at the front. A smaller dwarf with red hair and a meek demeanor. “Are you . . Interested in hobbits?” The scribe asked when Thorin didn’t reply. 

Furrowing his brow, he surfaced from his dejected stupor to engage the question. “Yes. But there doesn’t seem to be much about them here.”

“No. Th-There isn’t.” The young scribe returned. “Is-is there . . . something in particular you’re looking for.” 

“Anything really.” Thorin sighed. “This is all just surface information and assumptions. There’s nothing substantial.” He gestured to the few books. 

The young scribe began hesitantly, “Well, uh, th-there is one other.” 

“There’s another book?” Thorin straightened to attention. “Where Is it?”

“Ah, well, i-it’s not exactly . . . written yet. I-I’m still working on it.”

“You’re writing a book on hobbits?” Thorin eyed him critically. “What are your qualifications?”

“Oh, well, none . . . really.” The scribe wilted, and Thorin huffed dismissively. “But my source is highly credible. There’s none better to ask than a hobbit, right?” 

“You’re getting your information from a hobbit?” Thorin paused, the realization hitting him. “You know Bilbo Baggins?” He pinned the dwarf with his gaze. 

“A-Aye. H-how’d you know it was him? Do you know him?”

“He’s the only hobbit in Erebor, and, aye, I’ve met him.” 

“Oh. Right.”

“He’s helping you write a book on hobbits?” Now this was something that could actually be useful. 

“Well, I-I’ve asked him questions, and he said it was fine if I wrote down the information. I-I haven’t actually started writing the book yet, just notes really. I . . . I don’t have much time for writing.” The scribe shrugged sheepishly.

Thorin considered the dwarf. At this point even notes would likely be more helpful than the books he’d already read. Plus, the information was coming straight from his One. It was the next best thing to asking him personally. Perhaps he could hire this scribe to gather the information he needed. “What’s your name?” 

“O-oh. Ori, sir.”

“Ori. May I see these notes? Do you have them with you?”

“A-Aye! Of course!” The dwarf turned and hurried to the front desk. Thorin followed, and the scribe dug out a little worn notebook from a stack of books and papers. “H-here it is.” He opened it and presented the relevant pages. 

Taking it, Thorin scanned over the collection of notes. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

“Uh . . .” Ori seemed uncertain. 

“Do you work tomorrow? I can return it in the morning.”

“Uh, aye, I do work tomorrow. I . . . suppose that would be fine.”

“Thank you. I promise no harm will come to it,” Thorin assured and left immediately with his prize, ignoring the scribe's sputtered replies. Walking to his rooms quickly, he resolved to glean for as much information as possible that very night. 

Going straight to his desk, he got to work. There were several pages of notes, but they seemed to be in some form of shorthand that he wasn’t familiar with. Still, he was able to pick out bits and pieces. They covered a wide range of topics, from holidays and celebrations to Shire government and region divisions. There was a little piece about meals and times, but Thorin wasn’t quite able to decipher it. 

He didn’t need to understand everything to know that this scribe was digging in a gold mine of information. All he needed was the time and funds to do something with it. Well, Thorin could take care of that. He set it aside after gathering as much as he could and decided to get a little sleep.

He didn’t get much. So excited by the prospects of getting some useful information, he had a hard time calming down. He was up even earlier than usual and threw himself together carelessly before marching down to the library. 

When he arrived, the library was still quiet and largely empty, the early morning shift still trickling in. He spotted Ori, however, and approached him by the work tables he was preparing. 

“Ori,” he greeted, and the scribe spun around in surprise. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Thank you for letting me borrow your notes." Thorin returned the notebook. "I actually have a proposition for you. May I speak with you privately?”

“O-Okay.” Ori followed hesitantly when Thorin led him to the rarely visited section of the library devoted to information about hobbits. Wringing his knitted sweater sleeves nervously, he waited. 

“I’d like to hire you to write a book on hobbits.” Thorin cut straight to the point. “I,” he cleared his throat, “the library is in dire need of more accurate information about our western neighbors, and there is little . . . interest in most scholars for the subject. So, if you’re interested in writing a book, or as many books as you like on the subject, consider yourself funded.”

Ori simply gawked. 

“I’ll cover any expenses for your work as well as reimbursement for any time you need away from your job here. My only requirement is that I be the first to read anything you write. I’ll even make sure they get catalogued into the library properly as if you were any other scholar. Well?” He asked, loosing his patience as the scribe's mouth continued to hang open. 

“Y-Yes! Of course! I’d love to write it! I merely didn’t have the time because of my library work.” Ori finally responded excitedly. “Wait until I tell Bilbo!” 

“No!” Thorin held a hand out, stopping that thought in its tracks. “You cannot tell him that I hired you.”

“Oh-oh?” Ori's head tilted curiously. “B-but he deserves to know how I'm using his information.”

“You can tell him you’ve been hired to write it, but don’t tell him who hired you. Simply tell him you were commissioned to fill a gap of information in the library." 

“O-Okay.” Ori scratched his head. “H-he’s pretty smart though.”

“Just don’t mention me specifically.” Thorin waved him along to return to the desks. “Keep track of your expenses, and I’ll reimburse you weekly. I will send you some supplies to get you started. If you can't afford the materials you need in the future, let me know and I'll provide them,” he instructed as they walked.

“Y-Yes, sir. Good morning, Bilbo!” Ori waved as they neared the tables. 

Thorin nearly tripped over himself when he heard his One’s voice return the greeting. There, sitting at the work tables, was Bilbo Baggins, already working away as he copied the book in front of him. Thorin was caught completely off guard. He was barely dressed, wearing only a simple tunic and pants. 

His heart nearly leaped from his chest when the hobbit glanced at them before immediately doing a double take and staring with wide eyes. Thorin floundered momentarily, completely lost as to what to do or say in that moment. 

Blinking, Bilbo turned to Ori who was taking the seat at the table beside him. Finally, with his One’s gaze no longer pinning him in place, Thorin's brain seemed to start working again. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Bilbo,” he said carefully. 

“G-Good morning.” Bilbo's suspicious gaze returned to him. 

“I . . . take it this is your other job then.” Thorin stepped closer to attempt a conversation. 

“So it is.” Bilbo didn't sound entirely comfortable that Thorin now knew. 

“Well, I won’t keep you from your work.” Thorin cleared his throat again when he couldn't think of anything else to say. “Perhaps I will see you again soon.”

“It seems rather unavoidable at this point.” Bilbo resumed his copying work. 

Thorin dipped his head, partly in respect and partly to hide his disappointment. He was not used to being . . . dismissed so blatantly, and it stung more so coming from his own One. Nodding in silent communication to the scribe, he took his leave. At least he would soon be equipped with greater knowledge of his opponent. 

_~Bilbo~_

Bilbo tried not to think of the dwarf as he returned to the library the next morning. Was Thorin stalking him? Had he known Bilbo worked at the library or had it been a coincidence? The dwarf seemed . . . respectful enough, but there was something in his eyes that made Bilbo uneasy. 

But, he didn’t seem dangerous and hadn’t done anything inappropriate, so Bilbo tried not to dwell on it too much. Maybe he was just . . . overly friendly or did his job a little too enthusiastically. Still, there was something in the dwarf’s eyes that made his stomach twist, and he didn’t particularly like it. 

“Good morning, Ori.” He set his bag on the desk. Poor Ori always got stuck with the overnight and early morning hours. “How are you this morning?” 

“Just fine, Bilbo. You?”

“Well, I’m . . . here.” Bilbo flapped his arms, not wanting to burden the dwarf with his sleepless night trying to figure how to make ends meet on his limited income. “What is all this?” He noticed a pile of paper, pens and ink and even several brand new leather bound books sitting on the table between them. 

“Oh! I forgot to tell you yesterday! Someone’s sponsoring me to write a book!” 

“And these are . . . supplies?” Bilbo thumbed through the blank pages of one of blank books. 

“Yes!” Ori squeaked excitedly. 

“That’s wonderful, Ori! I’m so happy for you.” Bilbo smiled at his coworker, willing any toxic feelings of envy out of his heart. Ori was a talented scribe. He deserved the opportunity. “You’ll have to let me read it when you're finished.”

“More than that! I’ll need your help to write it!” 

“My help? Why? What’s it about?”

“Hobbits, of course. I told you the library barely has anything about them.” Ori paused, his excitement become more subdued. “Not-not that I’m trying to make money off what you share with me. I-I was just offered the job.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine, Ori.” Bilbo wasn't sure how he felt about someone else getting paid for his information. Not that he had the time to write any books. Sighing, he figured it was rather consistent with the rest of his life. 

“I-I’ll share some of the pay with you.”

“No. No, you can't do that, Ori. _You_ were hired. It’s _your_ work they’re paying for. Besides, you need the money just as much.” Bilbo forced down the sense of hopelessness that had been haunting him lately. He wouldn't get in the way of someone else’s happiness.

“All right, but, if there’s anything I can do--"

“I’ll let you know.” Bilbo gave the dwarf a warm smile. 

Ori returned it with a relieved one of his own. They both quickly got to work before one of the ruthless bookkeepers could scold them for talking too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin gets pulled into Ball preparations by his sister and mother and Dwalin comes up with a plan. Bilbo isn't doing very well but is doing his best to make ends meet.


	7. A Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new update schedule is pinned on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/domesticgoddesswriter) page. Check it out to know when to expect updates for your favorite fics. 😉
> 
> Enjoy! 🥰

Thorin scanned the documents that had finally been delivered. His knee bounced restlessly under the desk with the repressed need to get up and look for his One. It had been all he could do lately to keep himself from visiting the library and the medical ward. He wanted so desperately to see his hobbit again but could never think of a good reason to be there. 

Sighing, he picked up another page. It seemed there really wasn’t a lot of information on Bilbo Baggins. Though he was discovering that his One worked in, not two, but three different royal departments. Besides the library in the mornings and the medical ward in the afternoons, he also worked in the royal kitchens in the evening. 

Thorin stared at the records in bafflement. Why would Bilbo need three jobs? The only dependent listed as family was a mere babe of eleven years. With only his and another very small mouth to feed, he couldn’t possibly need to work that much. And where was he living? There was no residency listed for him. Surely, he must live in the royal servant quarters, so why wasn’t it listed?

He ran a hand over his tired face. Even with this, he'd learned very little. It seemed he was stuck until he could get more information from Ori. At least the scribe seemed to be taking his task seriously. Just as he set down the documents, his study doors burst open and his sister and mother marched in. 

“There you are,” Dis greeted as if he was likely to be anywhere else at this time of the day. “It's time to try on your outfit for the ball,” she sang as several dwarrow carried in a wire-formed mannequin donned in a very feathery get-up. 

“What is it?” he asked, thoroughly unimpressed by the flashy decorative costume. 

Dis scoffed. “It’s a raven, obviously.” She smoothed some of the feathers that had begun to stick out. It looked like it might have full wings on its back considering how many feather he was seeing. It was black, so he might have been able to guess if he cared to, but the feathers and fabric shimmered a dark blue when the light hit it just right. It was . . . excessive.

“I don’t like it.” His voice was dull and apathetic. He was too depressed to even fight with her properly lately. 

“We didn’t come to ask if you liked it,” Dis scoffed again. “We came to make sure it fit right. Come on, get over here and let us dress you up.”

Thorin sighed and made no motion to get up. 

“Come on, dear.” His mother took his hand and coaxed. “You've been in a real slump lately. This ball is as much for you as it is for us. Maybe you’ll find your special someone this time.”

“I doubt it.” Thorin already knew where his someone was, and he didn’t seem the type to attend masquerade balls. 

“You don’t know that. Come on. You could use a change of pace.” The older dam cajoled. 

Sighing again, he pushed himself to his feet. At this point, he really didn’t care what he was doing anyway. It was all the same if he couldn’t go to his One. Allowing them to position and dress him, he let his mind wander to bouncy curls and green eyes. He needed to see Bilbo again, even if he had to sneak down and peek a glance. 

The dams murmured as they made note of anything that needed changed. Dis pulled out a black feather mask with a crow's beak over the nose and slipped it on him as well just as the doors burst open again. 

Stopping in his tracks at the sight, Dwalin quickly read the room before reacting. He gave the queen and princess a small bow and kept his face deceptively straight as he moved further into the room to watch.

Thorin could see it in his friend's eyes. He was going to hear it, a lot of it, when the dams finally left. “Are you done with me yet?” He grumbled as his mother and sister continued to mumble and examine him. 

“I suppose, for now.” The queen relented and pulled the mask off. She stepped in front of him and eyed him carefully as Dis and the tailors began to pull the costume back off. “What’s going on with you, dear? You’ve . . . not been yourself lately.” 

Thorin had been expecting this for a while. “Nothing, Amad,” he answered quietly. He couldn’t explain without revealing that he’d found his One. It was almost a point of shame now that he had failed, continued to fail, in connecting with his other half. But telling his family wouldn’t help. The last thing he wanted was for his hobbit to be picked up and all but forced into a relationship. And if they insisted on intervening, he suspected it would only drive his hobbit away. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I’m just . . . working through some things.” He shrugged, hoping to satisfy her enough to stop her questions. 

She continued to study him, and he forced himself to meet her eyes. “You would tell me, if there was anything I could do to help, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“All right.” She started to back off. “I don’t like seeing you so out of sorts, you know.” 

He didn’t like _being_ out of sorts. “I’m working on it, Amad.”

“Okay.” She permitted but didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But if you get into some kind of trouble, you best let us know about it.” She pointed. 

“Yes, Amad,” he agreed with a faint smile. 

“I suppose we’re done for now. We’ll leave you to your brooding,” the queen announced as she ushered Dis and the tailors out. 

He rolled his eyes at the mild teasing and braced himself for his cousin’s ribbing. 

“Ye really gonna wear that?” Dwalin began as soon as the small company could no longer be heard in the hall. 

“Apparently.”

Dwalin guffawed. “Ye look like an overgrown black chicken! Did ye see that beak? It’s even bigger than yours!” 

“Thanks, Dwalin,” Thorin grumbled and sat at his desk. “And what will you be wearing?”

“The usual. In charge of ball security.” Dwalin replied with a hint of gloating.

“Of course you are,” Thorin grumped. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if he could drag his cousin into his misery with him, but, no, Dwalin always had an excuse.

“So, ye gone back?” Dwalin changed the subject.

“No,” Thorin answered, knowing exactly what his cousin was talking about. 

“Balin said he got those documents to ye. Ye learn anything?”

“Not much. He has three different jobs, but it’s just him and a babe. Doesn’t even list where he lives.” 

“Want me to pick ‘im up?”

“No,” Thorin replied strongly. Dwalin would terrify his poor hobbit, and then he’d have a terrible time approaching him again. 

“Then what are ye gonna do?”

“I don’t know!” Thorin snapped, dropping his head into his hands. It felt like he was doing some kind of delicate precision surgery, not war strategy. He wasn’t trained for this kind of situation. He was the crowned prince! He wasn’t the one who had to be careful around people. Others had to be careful around him!

“Well, the ball’s in just a couple days. I still think ye should ask for some time off when it’s over. Stop tryin’ ta juggle this and your usual duties.”

“I can’t even see him without making him standoffish and suspicious. What good does having extra time do me?”

“I’m not saying ta not work at all. Just take a break from your crown prince duties. Ye could take up a joint commander post. That would give ye more flexibility and let ye get around more and maybe see 'im here and there. Ye did tell ‘im ye were a soldier, so it would make sense and ye could ‘check in’ on 'im and say yer just doin’ yer security rounds.”

Thorin straitened in his chair. “That’s actually a really good idea,” he admitted as he thought it over. “But I’d have to get Adad to let me off.”

“With all the brooding ye’ve been doin’, I don’t think it’ll be that hard,” Dwalin snorted and earned himself a glare. “Ye could always talk to the queen first and get her on yer side.”

Thorin continued to turn it over in his mind. It was sounding more and more appealing as he thought about. Maybe this was the break he needed. “You’re right.”

“I know it.”

Thorin ignored him. “I think I’ll do it.” Of course, he was going to have to wait until after the ball. There was no way his mother and sister were going to let him get out of it. But it was only a couple days away. He could suffer a couple more days if it meant he could anticipate some actually progress on the other side of them. 

“Great! Can ye stop mopin’ around now? We haven’t sparred in days.”

Thorin scowled but couldn’t deny that a good work out would probably be good for him. “Fine.” He stood again. “Let me get changed, and then I'll wipe the arena floor with you.”

“Big words for a mopey arse!” Dwalin retaliated. “Ye sure ye even remember how to hold a sword?”

“I guess you’ll find out.”

Laughing heartily at the challenge, Dwalin followed his prince to his private chambers. 

_~Bilbo~_

Scrubbing at the growing pile of dishes, Bilbo glanced around nervously at the increased bustle in the kitchens. Something was clearly going on, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Whatever it was, it had the kitchens running overtime.

He attempted to catch Bombur a few times to ask, but the poor cook’s aide was being run ragged as it was. Bilbo decided it would be best to just stay out of the way lest he get his friend in trouble. 

Glancing anxiously to his daughter, he checked to see how she was doing. She was pressed further into her corner than usual because of the increased foot traffic and looked like she was doing her best not to get stepped on. His poor baby girl. Scrubbing furiously, he struggled to finish and get her out of there, but his pile of dirty dishes never seemed to get any smaller as more were constantly added. They were going to be there all night if it kept up. What was all the hustle about?

“Mister Baggins!” He jumped when the master Cook barked at him. “Are you available the day after tomorrow?”

“Uh . . ." Bilbo floundered, unsure of the question. “W-well, I-“

“Most of the city will be closed for the ball, but I need workers and half my aides have already asked for the day off. I'll need ya here all day. Can ya work it?”

“Oh, well-“

“I’ll pay ya double time.”

“Yes!” Bilbo jumped at the offer. “Let me make sure I can have the day from my other stations, and I’ll let you know for sure tomorrow. But, yes, I’d like to work it.”

“All right. Good.” The head cook jotted something down on his paper board and walked away mumbling. 

“Poor sap.” Bilbo overheard one of the aides murmuring nearby. “Can’t go to the ball now.”

“Too bad. That's the whole point of a commoner’s ball. Everyone’s allowed, even the halfling,” another responded.

“It’s not like there’s any point in him goin’ anyway. I heard the whole ball's just another excuse to help the crown prince find his One. Half the people I know are goin’ just for a shot at becoming the next king’s consort.”

“I guess you’re right. No need for him ta be there then. Bet he doesn’t have anything but rags to wear anyway. Not sure ‘servant’s an appropriate costume for a ball,” the dwarf snickered. 

Resuming his task, Bilbo tried to ignore them. He couldn’t even think badly of them, really. Everything they said was true. He wasn’t fit for a ball, certainly not if royalty was to be there. He could never be a dwarf’s One. He doubted he even had a soulmate. He wasn’t much of a believer in them anymore. And, even if he did have one, he certainly didn’t deserve them. 

Plus, they were right. He didn’t have anything beyond rags. There was no way they’d let him in dressed like he was. Besides, what about Dahlia? He understood children weren’t really welcome at such events, and he wasn’t about to leave her home alone. 

No, he didn’t need to go, and he didn’t want to either. There was nothing for him there. He’d be better off making a few extra coins instead. Washing dishes, he worked late into the night and into early morning hours. 

By the time he finished, poor Dahlia had fallen asleep curled up in her corner. He tiredly collected their small pouch of things and gently picked her up. His hands were so dry they felt they would crack open from even minor movements. His back ached and his eyes were probably bloodshot, but he cradled her close regardless of his own discomfort. His precious baby girl. 

Trudging out of the kitchen, his steps were slow and dragging. There didn’t seem any point in walking all the way home only to come right back as soon as he got there, so he headed for the library instead. Maybe Ori would be working and let them curl up in one of the dustier corners of the massive complex. He needed as much sleep as possible since he suspected things would only get busier over the next couple days. 

Fortunately, Ori was working and did his best to get them settled somewhere out of the way. Bilbo offered an exhausted thank you before curling up with his little girl and passing out. 

Waking him the next morning before his shift, Ori made sure Bilbo wouldn't be docked any pay for being late. Getting up slugishly, Bilbo straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his hair, and got to work. Poor Dahlia’s belly grumbled half the morning until Ori’s shift finished, and he offered to grab them something to eat. 

“How much do I owe you?” Bilbo tiredly took the basket of sweet breakfast buns. He dreaded the answer as it was way more than he would ever dare to buy, but he would pay the dwarf back. 

“Don’t worry about it. I had a little extra money, and I ate one myself.” Ori waved away the question. 

Bilbo looked at the buns again in confusion. “I-I don’t . . I know you don’t have a lot of money, Ori. How much do I owe you?” 

“No, really. I got that job writing a book remember?” 

“Well . . . at least let me pay half.”

Ori looked uncomfortable but conceded. “All right.” He named a price far lower than Bilbo suspected it should be. But Bilbo couldn’t say so without calling his friend a liar, so he pulled out a few coins from his pouch and handed them over. Seemingly content, Ori bid them goodbye and headed home to get some sleep himself. 

Finishing his shift, Bilbo confirmed with the head bookkeeper that he could have the next day off before he and Dahlia raced out to find some lunch. He wasn’t moving as fast as usual, and they weren’t able to grab much before they had to dash back to the palace for his shift in the medical ward. 

Things were terrible through his whole shift. It was like everyone had become absentminded with the ball just a day away or that they had decided they needed to get something checked so they could be their best on the day the crown prince would be looking for a partner. It was all rather ridiculous as far as Bilbo was concerned, and he ran about nonstop, dealing with as many minor issues as possible, so Oin and the other more qualified healers wouldn’t have to. They were grumpy enough by the landslide of patients as it was. 

Heaving a tired sigh, he trudged back to the kitchen with his daughter in tow. Dahlia needed something to eat--a lot of something--but he just didn’t have the steam to get it done before his next shift began. He just hoped the cooks weren’t too busy to offer her a few samples now and then.

He blinked back tears of frustration and stress. No matter what he did, it seemed he couldn’t take care of her right. If he worked enough to have the money to feed her then he didn’t have the time to go buy the food. He’d pretty much cast his own needs to the wind at this point. He barely noticed the way his stomach twisted from hunger. Didn’t have time to really. Dahlia was still growing and so small for her age as it was. It was more important for her to eat. 

She squeezed his hand when he sniffled back the growing water in his eyes, and it made his eyes sting even more. But he forced away the tears and returned the gesture. How she could still love him after everything he’d put her through, he had no idea. He certainly didn’t deserve it, but he cherished it none-the-less. 

Reaching the kitchen, he got straight to work. It seemed Yavanna had not quite abandoned him yet as Bombur had collected quite a smorgasbord of cast away food that hadn’t made the cut for the feast line up. Dahlia squeaked in delight at the piled dishes and cheerfully began to fill her stomach. Bombur assured that he had several baskets of breads and such set aside for them to take home and that there would be plenty more leftovers for the taking over the next couple days.

For the first time in a very long time, Bilbo ate until he couldn’t feel his stomach tying itself in knots. He almost cried with relief and joy as he watched Dahlia fill her little cheeks until she looked like a chipmunk. And then he did, just a little. His shoulders shook softly as he buried his head between his knees and tried not to draw attention to himself. 

He must have failed. When he wiped his face clean again and got to work, there were not a few eyes following him. He and Dahlia were nearly bombarded with scraps for the rest of the evening as several of the aids and cooks developed a habit of setting aside as much of the portions that would normally go into the trash or slop buckets as was edible into baskets that would be delivered next to Dahlia. 

No one said anything outright. No one explained what it was for, but the message was clear. They walked home that evening with arms overflowing with slightly over cooked rolls and pastries, fruit that was too bruised or funny shaped, veggies that weren’t as crisp as desired and many cooked dishes that just hadn’t turned out right. 

There was no way they could have taken everything, but Bilbo had a feeling there would be more set aside for them the next day. He wouldn’t let himself hope for such a blessing everyday. They ate good again that night before bed, eager to devour whatever might go bad before they lost their chance to eat it.

When they curled up together that night to sleep, they slept with contented bellies for the first time in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The day of the Ball has arrived! Thorin is forced to bear it in silence, but perhaps there's a certain kitchen aide that will brighten the experience.


	8. A Masquerade Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!🥰

Waking up later than usual, Bilbo almost panicked. He rubbed the fear of missing work away from his face as he recalled that he'd be working in the kitchens all day and didn’t need to be there as early as his library shift required. It felt like it'd been forever since he’d taken his time getting up, but his grumbling stomach soon had him crawling out of bed.

He grabbed one of the loaves they’d brought home the night before and sliced it up. Shoving a piece into his mouth, he grabbed the water pitcher. He checked on his slumbering baby girl once more before heading out to fetch some water. 

Glancing around, he found the amount of activity in his . . . dark, little neighborhood unsettling. They were, after all, in one of the deepest slums of the mountain, and there was a lot of riffraff that lingered about. He locked the door behind him for added safety and made his way to the public water pump as discretely as possible. This deep in the mountain, they didn’t even have running water or plumbing provided in the little carved out holes they called houses.

It was likely only his inherent abilities as a hobbit that allowed him to get around without attracting attention as well as he did, and he thanked Yavanna once again as he reached the water pump without any problems. Stuffing the last bite of the bread into his mouth, he filled the water pitcher and made his way back.

Dahlia was awake and waiting when he returned, and they shared a much bigger breakfast then they were used to before heading out for the palace. Locking the door on their way out, he scanned the area warily before cautiously picking his way to the upper levels. 

Work began as soon as they arrived, and it was a constant flurry of activity. As the head cook had hinted, they were abnormally short on hands as the king had decreed that anyone who wished to attend the ball had to be allowed off from work. That meant only those who volunteered remained to work the overly busy kitchen in the midst of a ball. 

From what Bilbo could gather, the ball didn’t actually begin until mid-afternoon, but the cooks had to scramble to get all the food prepared despite their limited numbers. He earned his pay several times over that morning, doing everything from scrubbing dishes and emptying slop buckets to slicing veggies and stirring pots.

Whatever need he noticed, he rushed to take care of it before anyone could even think to ask him to do so. Since all the cooks and aides were overwhelmed as it was, nobody bothered to scold him when he swooped in to pull a dish out of an oven before it could burn or when he paused a moment and threw some seasoning in to another. 

No one complained to see the hobbit taking such liberties and, by the time the ball was getting ready to begin, they had even started making way for him as they all bustled around each other. 

“The ball will be starting soon!” the head cook shouted over the busy kitchen. “Let’s get these dishes up there! Mister Baggins!”

“Y-Yes, sir?” Bilbo spun in place at the call. 

“I’m puttin’ ya in charge of table arrangement! Get up there and make it look presentable!”

“M-me?!” 

“Aye. Ya work fast and you’re a halfling. Ya know all about food, right?”

“Uh, well . . “

“Go! Get movin’!” The head cook barked, and Bilbo jumped into motion. Stopping to make sure Dahlia would be fine, he grabbed a dish of his own and followed the train of aides already carrying trays of food up to the ball room. 

He glanced around nervously at the vast mostly-empty room. There were soldiers wandering about, likely inspecting for any security risks. Spotting one he recognized, he immediately averted his gaze when the large mohawked dwarf noticed him as well. 

Shaking his jitters away, Bilbo targeted the first table that was already being loaded with dishes as the aides delivered their loads and returned to the kitchen for more. He got straight to work, rearranging and organizing the dishes in the most appealing way possible while also keeping certain kind of foods grouped together, but also breaking them up so similar foods could be gotten at various locations. 

He ran about, working feverishly to get everything ready before they started letting people into the ballroom. The feeling of eyes on him remained, but he studiously ignored them in favor of doing his job. If he could pull this off and please the head cook, maybe he could get a small raise out of it. 

He was putting the final touches on the last table when the ballroom doors opened. The hum of excited murmuring flowed in like a wave, followed by a crowd of dwarrow who had been waiting for this moment. 

Quickly wrapping up, he made an anxious dash for the small hallway that led to the kitchens. “Tables are ready, sir,” he announced to the head cook as he reemerged into the kitchen. 

“Good! Take a break!”

Bilbo sighed in relief and plopped down next to his daughter, grateful for the breather, and grabbed a lidded wooded dish from the piles of dishes and baskets of food that had been set aside for workers to eat.

It was a mixture of sautéed vegetables that had been over cooked slightly, giving them a burnt sort of flavor. Not fit for a ball, but hardly beneath a poor kitchen aid. He dug into them and, before he realized it, had devoured the whole dish. He emptied several other bowls of undesirable food before he decided he better get back to work. 

Since it seemed the cooks had control of things, he opted to resume washing dishes. He knew they were going to need a constant resupply throughout the ball and figured he should get a head start. 

A little while later, he was up to his elbows in bubbles when the head cook called everyone not in the middle of an essential task with him up to the ball room. Apparently, the king was about to make an announcement and as many of them as possible were meant to be there for it. 

Bilbo kept scrubbing and hoped he didn’t get called up as well, heaving a sigh of relief when they disappeared into the hall. He continued his work until they returned a short while later. 

“Mister Baggins!” The head cook marched over.

“Y-Yes?” Bilbo wrung his soapy hands, fearing he'd messed up. 

“Good work on the tables! Finish that pot, and then I want you up there to keep an eye on them! The aides will help you keep the tables stocked!” The head cook informed more loudly than necessary. 

“O-oh. Okay,” Bilbo agreed with some reluctance. He had actually hoped to avoid being where people would see him. He was hardly fit to be seen at a ball. 

“Here. Put this on.” The headcook tossed an apron, and Bilbo nearly dropped the pot he was washing to catch it. 

“Yes, sir.” He quickly finished washing, so he could put it on. It was huge and wrapped all the way around him. By the time he’d managed to secure it on in a way that looked decent, it might as well have been a dress. But, it covered his ragged clothes, so he couldn’t complain. 

With another gesture from the head cook, he hurried up to the ball floor. He paused at the sight of the huge ballroom filled with dwarrow. It made his stomach churn with apprehension. Taking a deep breath, he sighed it out and composed himself. He was only managing the tables. There was no reason for anyone to notice him. No one usually did anyway, except to note the curiosity that was a hobbit in Erebor. 

If he just acted natural and went about his business, he doubted anyone would pay any attention to him. The ball was clearly in full swing at this point. There was music playing over the noise of conversations, and the tables were quickly being emptied. He thought he even spotted a few dancers twirling around at the center of the room. 

He took one more deep breath and started examining the tables. Whenever he found a dish that was nearly empty, he would gesture over an aide and send them to fetch a replacement dish. 

Fortunately, he was right and no one seemed to take any notice of him, so he gradually relaxed into his role and tried not to judge the ball goers on their masquerade costumes. A difficult task as some of them were quite laughable. 

_~Thorin~_

Thorin stood around feeling, and probably looking, completely bored. He’d had to stand in front of the whole gathering while his father literally announced that he was single and looking for his One, and then encouraged anyone who was unattached to come and offer him their hand. 

He’d known as his father had been talking that he was going to regret it and certainly had when he’d spent the first hour taking the hand of every gold-digger in Erebor, metaphorically speaking. He had no issues with the actual gold miners in attendance. 

After the first hour, his desire to be good-natured about it had thoroughly died, and few were willing to brave his glowers for a chance at being the next queen or consort. Something he was increasingly glad for. He already knew none of these dwarrow were his One because his One wasn’t a dwarf. 

Sighing, he scowled through his raven mask at anyone who tried to approach him. He didn’t care what sort of rumors started because of it. He wasn’t in the mood to care about much other than how to court his actual One. If people found him too disagreeable to put up with even for a chance at royalty, all the better. 

If only his hobbit had attended. Not that it seemed like something his Bilbo would do, but Thorin would have much preferred to spend the ball in his company. A wistful sigh escaped him as he fantasied about what his hobbit might have worn to the ball. It would have been more fetching than anything anyone else was wearing, he was sure of that, and likely more practical than what Thorin’s mother and sister had forced him to wear. The bloody cloak was so thickly sewn with feathers he could barely sit in it. 

“Hey, feather-head. What coup did ye escape from?” Dwalin’s voice suddenly sounded behind him. 

“Shut up,” Thorin growled, crossing his arms.

Snickering, Dwalin walked around to his front. “Hey, notice anyone out of place yet?”

“What are you talking about?” Thorin shot him a dark look. He really wasn’t in the mood for his cousin's jokes. 

“Figured ye hadn’t or ye wouldn’t still be moping around here. Have ye even eaten yet?” 

“What are you talking about?!” Thorin growled. “Since when do you talk in riddles?”

“Ain’t a riddle. Just a suggestion. Ye should go check out the food. Ye might find something ye like.” Dwalin nudged him with his elbow and gestured toward a section of the tables covered with food. 

Thorin glared as his friend walked off into the crowd. What was he bloody talking about? He debated with himself a moment on whether he should humor his cousin or not before finally sighing and making his way in the direction Dwalin had pointed. It’s not like he had anything better to do anyway. 

Wading through the crowds of dwarrow, he ignored the many covert attempts to touch him as he brushed by. If he didn’t react, they should have their answer. He wasn’t going to waste any more time on them. 

He broke through the thickest part of the crowd, and the tables came into view. Scanning them, he didn’t see what Dwalin could possibly be talking about. He huffed a sigh at the wild boar chase and was about to leave as he didn’t have much of an appetite, when something caught his eye a little way down. 

Bouncing curls. His mouth nearly fell open when he spotted the very one he had been longing to see. His hobbit was . . . working the tables? Thorin followed after him, watching in fascination as his One would gesture over one of the Kitchen aides only to send them rushing down to the kitchens. 

Was he . . . in charge of the tables? Thorin was surprised by how arousing it was to watch his small hobbit deftly command his dwarf coworkers. He would make a wonderful consort. Putting aside his fantasies, Thorin cleared his throat. He could resume them later . . . in private. 

He waited until the latest aide headed for the kitchen before stalking closer to speak to his hobbit. Clearing his throat again once he was close, he was unsure how to begin a conversation with his apprehensive other half. 

Startling, Bilbo turned and studied him with a wide-eyed gaze. “C-can I help you?” He glanced around nervously. 

Thorin was confused by the overly apprehensive response until he remembered he was wearing a mask. “Yes, sorry.” He slipped it up off his face. “I saw you working and thought I would ask how you were doing.”

Recognition shone in the hobbit’s eyes, and he seemed to settle slightly. “Oh. I-I didn’t recognize you in that . . . Uh, Mister . . .” 

“Thorin. Just Thorin.”

"All right. Th-Thorin. I-I’m well. I-I am working though.” Bilbo glanced to the tables. 

“You needn’t stop for my sake,” Thorin assured. “I merely hoped to speak with you.”

Bilbo gave him a suspicious look as he resumed his task. “All right.”

“So, you work in the medical ward, the library and the kitchens? That’s a lot of work for one hobbit.” Thorin grasped at something to talk about. 

“I do what I have to,” Bilbo returned blandly. 

“Of course,” Thorin replied, having to think of a new topic quickly. “You didn’t have to work today, you know. You could have attended the ball.” 

“I need the work. Besides, what would I do at a ball like this?” The hobbit replied distractedly. 

“Eat. Drink. . . . Dance.” 

Bilbo scoffed lightly. “I don’t think there’s anyone here who’s eager to dance with a hobbit.”

“I’d have been delighted to dance with you,” Thorin countered before he could think better of it. 

Bilbo’s head whipped around, his cheeks flushing slightly. He looked torn between flattered and terrified. “Oh, I doubt that. A handsome dwarf like you would have no trouble finding a more suitable dance partner, I’m sure.” He turned back to fiddle with the table's contents anxiously. 

Eyes widening, Thorin couldn't control his face or the delighted grin that blossomed on it. “You think I’m handsome?” he asked a little too cheerfully. 

His gaze shooting up in surprise, it was almost as if Bilbo hadn’t even realized what he’d said. His cheeks flushed a bright red. “I-I , um . . . I didn't . . . I mean . . .“ he floundered, looking everywhere but at the dwarf. “I-I’m sure I’m hardly the only one who would say so,” he mumbled, moving farther down the table as if to escape.

Thorin wasn’t about to let that happen. “But you’re the only one I’m asking.” He pursued his fleeing hobbit. 

“Well, it hardly matters what I think, does it?” Bilbo returned irritably, still avoiding eye contact. 

“It matters to me,” Thorin returned pleasantly. 

“Why?” Bilbo spun on him. “Look at you. You’re a bloody . . . raven! Go find yourself a-a . . . _raveness_. I’m just a servant.” He lowered his eyes and resumed his trek around the tables. 

“I didn’t want to be a raven,” Thorin admitted, refusing to give up the chase. 

“What?” Bilbo glanced over his shoulder. 

“My mother and sister insisted. I hate balls. I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t have to be.”

Bilbo stopped and turned to study him once more. “So the whole, uh, . . .” He gestured to the dwarf’s costume. 

“Was their idea,” Thorin sighed. “I’ve just learned not to fight battles I won’t win.”

The corner of the hobbit's mouth curling up ever so slightly, and Thorin was stunned speechless at the sight. It was the first faintest hint of a smile he’d seen on his One, and it was breathtaking, even as small as it was. 

“Well, it is, um, quite . . . fetching, if that makes you feel any better about it.” Bilbo looked away again, his face flushing a pretty pink as he spoke. 

“You think so?” Thorin fished for more. “You don’t think the beak is too big?” He slid the mask back onto his face properly. 

Bilbo glanced back and let out a small, surprised giggle. “No.” He cleared his throat. “It, uh, it’s fine.” He resumed studying the tables. “The dark colors really make the blue of your eyes pop,” he mumbled. 

“Really?” Thorin was all out grinning like a loon at this point. He couldn’t help but subtly preen in his dark feathered cloak. If his One liked it, it couldn’t be all that bad. Maybe he should thank his mother and sister. 

Bilbo only nodded and hummed in affirmation, keeping his face turned away. 

“I suppose the evening hasn’t been a total loss, then.” 

“And why is that?” Bilbo wondered distractedly.

“Because I got to see you.”

Bilbo paused a moment before turning to him, unease and concern once again on his face. “I-I’m not anyone special. It’s . . . h-hardly an accomplishment to run into a mere s-servant,” he stuttered under Thorin’s piercing blue gaze. 

“Yet, it has brightened my whole evening,” Thorin contradicted. “I would have attended gladly, if I’d known I’d share even these few words with you.”

Fidgeting nervously under his stare, Bilbo studied the tables with renewed focus. “You should go enjoy the ball before it’s over,” he advised when the dwarf continued to follow him. 

“I’m enjoying it far more now than I was before.” Thorin picked food from the dishes as he passed by. His hobbit seemed to inspire quite the appetite in him. 

“Really. I’m just a servant. You’re clearly a noble. Why are you wasting your time with me? I thought you were a soldier?” He accused over his shoulder. 

“Most high ranking positions in the militia are held by nobles.” Thorin covered his story. It was true, even if it didn’t apply to him. 

“Then shouldn’t you be out there, mingling with the other nobles?” Bilbo tried to shoo him away. 

“I’d much rather be talking to you.”

“Why?!” Bilbo spun in exasperation. 

Thorin only stared through his mask and smiled crookedly. His hobbit must have caught enough of the message, since he turned away again, and his cheeks flushed. 

“You’re wasting your time,” Bilbo muttered and continued his work. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Thorin denied. He followed his hobbit around a little longer, passively arguing with his smaller One, until one of the kitchen aides came to collect the hobbit for a kitchen emergency. 

Sighing, Thorin watched his One race away after a quick goodbye. He hated to be separated again, but his mood was greatly lifted. He’d finally had a real conversation with his One. A friendly conversation. Now he should be able to approach him more easily in the future. Maybe he could allow himself a few indulgent visits to one of Bilbo’s many workplaces. 

Someone nudged him as he continued to stare after his One even after the hobbit was long out of view, and he turned to find a smug Dwalin. 

“So?”

Thorin smiled. “He talked to me. He thinks I’m handsome.” His grin grew wider. 

Dwalin barked a laugh. “You’re bloody besotted! Ye know that?”

Despite his cousin’s teasing laughter, Thorin couldn’t find it in himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With Dwalin's support, Thorin moves forward with his plans to better court his One. We catch up with Bilbo after the ball and see a little more of Dahlia.


	9. A Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a poll up [here](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/633760662354558976/5th-monday-bonus-poll) for November's 5th Monday bonus updates. Be sure to get your votes in. 😁
> 
> Enjoy! 🥰

Thorin hadn’t been able to see his hobbit again that evening, as he had been pulled back into the thick of the party by more prospects hoping to marry up should they be his One. It was probably his lightened mood that spurred the renewed attention, but even so, it didn’t manage to dampen his spirits. He was even cordial the rest of ball. 

His good mood continued into the next day as he quickly finished up the last of the paper work that had been dropped onto his desk that morning. His hobbit thought he was handsome. Just remembering that simple fact was enough to bring a smile to his face.

He and Dwalin had discussed his next move later after the ball. Thorin was still adamantly against telling the rest of his family yet, though no longer out of shame. After his talk with Bilbo, it became obvious that his status would only serve as an extra obstacle between him and his One. Unlike the countless dwarrow who were looking for a status boost, the hobbit had been adverse to the idea of receiving attention from someone of higher class. 

Thorin was quite certain now that revealing his true position would only wedge a wider barrier between him and his One. Bilbo didn’t feel their bond and would have no reason to believe Thorin’s attentions were genuine if he knew he was the crown prince of all Erebor. 

So, Thorin needed to escape as much of his rank and title as possible. Leave them behind in his chambers and adopt a more common status. He could work with noble as not all nobles were as influential as others, but he couldn’t be crown prince. 

There was a knock at his door and Dwalin let himself in. “Ye ready?”

“Aye,” Thorin answered. They had agreed that he needed to request a reprieve from his duties from the king, so he could both have the time to court his One and more easily hide his true identity. His friend and cousin had offered to go with him as support to do so. “Let’s go.” He set his papers aside, and they left for his father’s study. 

Thorin knocked and waited for permission to enter, Dwalin following behind him as he did so. 

“Thorin!” Thrain greeted cheerfully. “Heard ye were quite the socialite yesterday.”

Huffing, Thorin took a seat in front of his father's desk. “Adad,” he returned the greeting. “It wasn’t as terrible as I was expecting.” A smile pulled at his lips as he remembered his conversation with his hobbit. 

“Aye?” The king eyed him suspiciously. “Find someone, did ye?”

“Not quite.” Thorin hedged away from the truth. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Hmm?” The king set down his pen, giving his eldest son his undivided attention. “What would ye ask of me?”

“Not much, really. I don’t want any royal decrees or anything. I . . . I want some time . . . away from my duties.” Thorin gauged his father’s reactions carefully. 

“Time off?” Thrain repeated curiously. 

“Aye. I’ve been thinking a lot about . . . my One. Vili suggested they could be young, and Dis suspected they were of lower rank. If they’re right, it could be very difficult for me to find them as the crown prince.” 

The king hummed thoughtfully. “And what would this time off allow ye to do that ye can’t do already?”

“I would have more time to devote to looking, and it would be easier to mingle with the lower classes.” 

“Or I could simply decree a city wide search and require every unattached dwarf to check in for a simple touch test,” the king counter offered. 

Thorin shook his head. “Erebor is vast. Such a decree would upset the economy of our city, not to mention it would be difficult to keep track of who did or didn’t check in. And what about merchants and travelers? No, I don’t believe it would be an efficient means of searching.” 

“Ye believe ye could do better? Alone?” Thrain challenged, leaning back into his chair. 

“I would like the privilege and honor of being able to search for my own One . . . And I would like the freedom of my usual responsibilities so I can focus on my search. Both you and Amad have continually stressed how important it is I find my other half before I take the throne,” Thorin reasoned. 

“Aye, but I could simply lower yer work load.”

“It . . . would be easier to mingle with the lower classes, if I could blend in with them. I need to distance myself from my title as much as possible.”

“Now, ye didn’t say ye wanted to go underground. That’s a different thing entirely.” Thrain pointed out. “Ye can’t just stop being the prince. What will ye do? Where will ye go? What if you’re needed for an emergency?”

“We’ve actually come up with an answer for that,” Thorin prompted his best friend. 

“He could join the barracks under the guise as a soldier. It’ll keep him close to home but not necessarily associate him with the royal family. He’d have freedom to mingle throughout the city, and I’ll station him with some loyal seasoned soldiers besides myself to keep an eye on him for security purposes.” Dwalin jumped in on cue. “If ye need ‘im, he’ll be in reach, and it’ll be a cover for ‘im when he’s out and about.”

“And ye support this, Dwalin?” The king gestured towards him. 

“Aye.” Dwalin paused. “The sooner he finds ‘is One, the sooner 'e can stop mopin’.” He smirked at the glare Thorin shot him over his shoulder. 

The king went quiet as he thought about the proposition. “I suspect this means you won’t be makin’ it to family dinners either.” Thorin raised a brow, as if that was hardly his biggest concern. “Yer Amad won’t be happy about it.”

“Please, Adad. I . . . know my One is close. I have felt it.” Thorin held a fist over his heart. “I need time to find them.”

The king sighed. “All right. But it can’t last forever.” He pointed in warning. “How far do ye plan to take this little ruse of yours?”

“I will move into the barracks and remove my royal braids. Once I go under, my time here will be very limited. I would ask that you keep the family from interfering and breaking my cover.”

“Very well, but I suggest ye let them know tonight at dinner. If ye don’t tell 'em, ye know they’re going to be prying into it. Yer Amad will want to see ye before ye go under.”

“It’s not as if I’m leaving,” Thorin chuckled. “I’ll still be working in the palace.”

“Aye, but ye know yer Amad. She’ll be upset ye won’t be there for dinners.”

“Aye.” Thorin nodded. But he suspected she would tolerate it for the cause of finding his One. 

“Tomorrow then?”

“Tonight,” Thorin corrected. “Dwalin will make arrangements for me to transfer to the barracks tonight. Tomorrow I will already be under.”

“All right, but if the need arises, I’ll have ta pull ye back to yer duties. Not looking forward to all the extra paperwork,” the king grumbled. 

Thorin chuckled. “Make Frerin do it.”

“He’ll just whine about it,” Thrain groaned

Thorin laughed and nodded in agreement. Frerin was more accustomed to lenient duties as the younger son. “Thank you, Adad.”

“Ah, stop it. We all want to see ye happily settled down. We know ye want it. If a little extra paperwork is all it takes on my part, it’s worth it. Besides, I’ve seen the papers you’ve been sending back. Are ye even reading them?” The king raised a brow at his son. 

“I . . . may have been . . . distracted, lately,” Thorin confessed. “My One has weighed heavily on my mind of late.”

The king hmphed, with an agreeing nod. “Very well. I’ll see ye at dinner tonight then.”

“Thank you, Adad.”

“Go on, go on!” Thrain waved them out, a small smirk on his lips. 

Thorin and Dwalin stopped outside the door, and Thorin heaved a relieved sigh. Step one was complete. “Tomorrow we begin.”

“Aye.” Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder, and they walked down to the barracks to begin arranging him a spot. 

That evening, he broke the news to the rest of his family, with his father’s support. His mother took it exceptionally well, excited by the prospect that he was taking a more proactive approach to finding his One. She seemed convinced he would find his other half if he was devoting his time to searching. 

Vili was very supportive, of course, while Frerin only whined about the extra work he would have to do in his brother’s absence. Dis, however, was suspicious, and questioned his rather late decision to take such measures. But Vili talked her down and she, too, came to accept it by the time the meal was over. 

After securing promises that none of them would interfere with his attempts to distance himself from the royal family--including his nephews (especially his nephews)--he offered them each goodbyes, as he would be avoiding interacting with them as much as possible, and returned to his rooms to gather the few things that he would be taking with him when he entered the barracks.

_~Bilbo~_

Bilbo rubbed his exhausted eyes and tried to focus on the small words in the book he was copying. After the scramble that was the past couple days, he was completely worn out. 

He was, at least, better fed than usual, as he and Dahlia still had leftovers from the feast sitting about their home and in their bag, though even that, he knew, would only cause him suffering in the long run. His belly may be content now, but when the food inevitably ran out and he was back to a bite here and there, the hunger pains would hit him with full force once again, and he would have to suffer until they became normal and the pain dulled. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he had to eat when he could. 

He was doing his best. He didn’t know how he could do any better. The late nights and early mornings paired up with a daily commute that nearly spanned the height of the mountain was painfully grueling. But he was certainly no stranger to difficult situations. As hard as it was, he still wouldn’t go back to Belegost. 

But it was wearing him down. One of the kitchen aides had mentioned some time ago that there was a servant living quarters designated specifically for palace workers, and he'd submitted the paperwork to apply for housing there immediately. He never received an answer, so he applied again on the off chance that his paperwork had gotten lost. He suspected that wasn’t the case, though, when he still didn't hear anything back. It wouldn’t be the first time he was denied something simply because he was a hobbit.

Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes and made it difficult to see the text. Wiping the moisture away, he discretely sniffed back the urge, so he could resume his work. Dahlia wasn’t far, and she was already more worried than a faunt her age should be about anything. He needed to be stronger. He just didn’t know what else he could do. 

On top of everything, his landlord had, predictably, decided to raise the rent on the little dugout cave they were calling a home. Suddenly, what he'd already paid was no longer enough and the landlord continued to come by and demand more money, soaking up more and more of his pay. What could he do but keep paying? They had nowhere else to go. As it was, even with three jobs they’d be homeless soon the way things were going. 

He didn’t know what else to do! Water flooded his eyes again faster than he could dispel them, and he had to lean back to prevent his tears from staining the pages. He couldn’t afford his pay to be docked too. He couldn’t possibly work anymore! Even if he did, his wages were negligible. He’d already tried finding a job in the privately own shops, but no one would give him the time of day. At least the palace was equal opportunity, even it it wasn’t equal wage.

He wiped his eyes tiredly on his sleeve. It didn’t help that he was so tired. It made him more emotional. He’d been through worse then this. He could take it. It just broke his heart to drag Dahlia through it with him. But she was all he had. Letting her go would break him.

Feeling a small hand on his leg, he scrubbed his face clean again. “I’m all right,” he assured with a sniff. “I’m all right.” He tried for a smile, but, judging by the concern that never left her face, he had a feeling he didn’t manage it very well. “How’s your work coming?” He tried to distract her as well as himself. 

“I finished it.” She held her little paper, and he took it to look it over. 

“Oh, dear,” he mumbled. 

“Is it bad?”

“No, no! It’s excellent! You did a wonderful job.” He paused. “I-I just don’t have anymore for you, and we still have . . . a very long day ahead of us.” He sighed in disappointment. He couldn’t keep up with his work and her education, but she needed to learn as much as he needed to work. He had to give her every chance to succeed he could. She deserved a better life than this, even if she had to find it without him. “I’m sorry, flower. I-I’ll try to prepare more for tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” she forgave easily. “Can I sit with you?” 

“Yes, of course.” He helped her up onto the little bench next to him. She had to stand to see onto the worktable. It’d have been funny if he too wasn’t only barely peering over the edge, and that with a large book under his rear as a booster. 

“What are you doing?” She leaned against the table to watch as he got back to work. 

“Just copying mostly,” he explained as he resumed. “Sometimes books get old or they just want to have more than one copy available if there’s a high demand for it, so someone has to copy all the words over to a new book to make another one.”

“Is it hard?” She set her chin on the edge and watched as his pen scratched across the page. 

“Not really. It’s . . . actually kind of boring,” he confessed in a hushed voice. “But someone has to do it, I suppose.”

“Can I try?” she asked innocently. 

“Uh,” he glanced around to see if anyone was watching. He wasn’t sure how the bookkeepers would feel about it, but it wasn’t like she would be writing in any of their actual books. “Sure. Why not?” He finally decided. If they wanted to be petty about it, he would just take the blame. “Go get one of your papers and one of your charcoal sticks.” He picked out on of the smaller books on his desk as she slid down to get a writing utensil and propped it open for her to see. 

He helped her climb back up with her supplies and got her set up. “So, all you have to do is pick a spot and copy all the words. Be very careful you don’t miss any, then you have to start all over again.” He instructed, and she nodded seriously. 

He continued his own work for a few moments while she got herself started before looking over to check on her. Her little tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she ever so carefully copied one word after another, constantly making sure she hadn’t missed one. The sight lightened his despairing heart, and he smiled softly, brushing her dark curls out of her face. She was, truly, the only precious thing in his life. Perhaps he was being selfish, but he could never bring himself to give her away--couldn’t stand by and watch them take her from him. He would have nothing without her. 

They worked quietly together, offering hushed praises now and then to keep each other going. The time passed more quickly than usual, even pleasantly, and they were soon packing up their things to head to the medical ward. They went straight there as they didn’t have to run out to find lunch and arrived nearly an hour early. 

They stepped in and found the ward quieter than usual. Oin was sitting at his desk in the middle of the room with his spectacles on and looking over paperwork. Bilbo approached him silently on his soft padded feet. “Uh, h-hello, Master Oin--“

“You’re early,” the dwarf grumbled distractedly without looking up from his papers. 

“Y-Yes, actually, I was hoping, since the ward isn’t particularly busy, if I could . . . Uh . . . “ His confidence fizzled out. Was it a small thing to ask to nap in the royal ward until his shift?

Oin glanced at him, studying him over the glass of his spectacles. “Aye. Go on. I’ll wake ye for yer shift.” The dwarf waved him toward the royal wing of the clinic. 

“Oh, thank you.” Bilbo offered a small bow. He must look terrible indeed if the old dwarf could tell what he was asking just from looking at him, but he didn’t stop to ask. He needed to make the most of the time he had. 

They disappeared into the royal wing, and he set Dahlia up with their bag of food, trusting her to help herself and still leave some for dinner. When he had her situated, he lay himself down and finally relaxed. 

It felt like he’d only just closed his eyes when someone shook him awake. He peered up groggily as a rough dwarven hand pressed against his forehead. “What . . “ He croaked before he had to abort the attempt. 

“Ye feelin’ okay?” Oin stood over him as he dragged himself up. 

“Just tired.” Bilbo tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Haven’t been getting much sleep.”

“Ye need to take care of yer health,” Oin lectured. “Ye can't work or take care of yer wee one if ye collapse.”

“I know. I-I’m trying,” Bilbo assured quickly. “I-is it time?”

“Aye,” Oin answered not sounding entirely pleased. 

“I’ll be r-right there.” Bilbo hoped the healer wouldn't press any further. 

“A’ight,” Oin grumped and headed out to the main room of the clinic. 

Bilbo sighed. There was probably no way he’d pass any kind of health inspection. He was going to have to avoid any such inquiries as much as possible. He found a basin and washed his face and hands to freshen up. Stopping to give Dahlia a kiss on her pretty curls, he follow out to get to work. 

No sooner had he gotten started mixing remedies in the back, he was called out to dress a minor flesh wound. Washing his hands again, he grabbed the supplies he’d need and dragged his cart over to the cot he’d been assigned. His steps faltered when he finally looked at his patient, and he fought the urge to run away. 

He didn’t recognize The dwarf sitting on the cot, a soldier probably, based on his clothes, but he certainly recognized Mister Tall, Dark And Handsome standing next to the cot. Thorin. The name seemed to inspire equal parts fascination and terror inside. 

Thorin raised his gaze and Bilbo resisted urge to run and hide again as their eyes met. Then the dwarf . . . smiled, just a small, gentle sort of upturning off his lips, and Bilbo couldn’t have run if he wanted. He closed the rest of the space between them, his heart pounding and his stomach churning. He greeted them, taking advantage of the distraction that was his patient, and went about treating the cut the dwarf had gotten between his thumb and index finger. 

Despite the distraction, Thorin would not be ignored and initiated a small, quiet conversation as Bilbo worked. It was simple and benign, and it left Bilbo at a loss. He finished tending the dwarf, and they took their leave, Thorin bidding him farewell as they left. 

Bilbo could only stare at the door after they’d gone in befuddlement. Who was this dwarf and what did he want? Everything he’d suffered living with dwarrow screamed at him to stay away. Danger! It terrified him to even imagine what this dwarf wanted with him. And yet, there was something so . . . gentle in _this_ dwarf's eyes. It made him doubt.

Shaking himself, he slapped his face on either side to wake himself up. He had work to do and, frankly, it didn’t matter what the dwarf’s intent was because he wanted none of it. Whether good or bad, he didn’t have the time to go getting wrapped up in it. He didn’t need any more trouble. Erebor was his last chance. He wouldn't be able to pool enough money to start over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin makes a habit of seeing his hobbit on a regular basis. He finally discovers where Bilbo is living, but it only makes his One more defensive.


	10. A Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your fifth Monday bonus chapters!🥰
> 
> I've also posted a new Sneak Peek: [A Glimmer of Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921119/chapters/62713531). Summary below. 
> 
> It's been almost an age since the last Great War against darkness. A terrible time remembered not just for the defeat of Sauron, but for the fall of the last avatar, a soul gifted to the people of middle-earth by the Valar with the ability to combine and wield all the powers of the gods. Darkness is spreading and a new threat is emerging. But the free peoples of middle-earth are fractured after the loss of the avatar line, each race blaming another.
> 
> Thorin Oakenshield attends a council of kingdoms to discuss the rising threat, but little is accomplished despite rumors of a new avatar having been born. Frustrated and desperate to reclaim his people's mountain, he accepts the task of finding the young avatar. Sent to the land of hobbits, he sets out on the most important quest of the age--a mission to train the avatar and restore peace to the world.
> 
> atla!AU; Benders; Bilbo/Thorin

“What are ye smiling about?” Dwalin asked suspiciously when Thorin returned with the new recruit from the medical ward. 

“I saw him.”

“Of course, ye saw ‘im. That was the whole reason ye went down there.” Dwalin flapped his arms in exasperation. 

“We talked a little bit.”

“Mahal.” Dwalin rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re bloody annoying when you’re all infatuated, ye know that?”

Thorin shrugged, unrepentant and unconcerned. “He still seems a little scared of me though.”

“Well, he is a half--“

“Hobbit.” 

“Hobbit in a city of dwarrow!” Dwalin humored. “He ain’t got much support if ye were planning somethin’ untoward.”

“I would never--“

“He doesn’t know that.” Dwalin cut him off. “All he sees is a dwarf with money taking notice of a hobbit servant. Why do ye think he wouldn’t be suspicious?”

“Because he’s my One.”

“He don’t know that!”

Thorin sighed at the reminder. “I haven’t done anything to hurt him.”

“Don’t mean ye couldn’t. He don’t know yer motives.”

“At least he seems willing to talk to me now. Our conversation at the ball helped.”

“You’re welcome.” Dwalin nudged roughly with his elbow. 

Thorin rolled his eyes. 

“How ye gettin’ on with the others?” Dwalin asked, referencing to the three other dwarrow soldiers that shared their captain suite. Thorin may be trying to hide his identity, but he was still the crown prince. Dwalin wasn’t about to shove him into common barrack housing with low ranking soldiers. Instead, he’d hand picked three seasoned veterans besides himself to share the captain suite, suitable for up to five. Dwalin and the three others he’d picked would be acting as Thorin’s private guard for the duration of his time ‘underground.’

“Fine. They don’t bother me. The one with the ax is a bit strange though, where’d you find him?” Thorin wondered, remembering the two toned dwarf with a wild look in his eye. 

“Ye mean Bifur? He’s a good soldier, a berserker even! But he’s easy goin' enough. The ax gives some him speech problems, so he don’t talk much, but he listens good. Makes him a good guard.”

“They do know who I am, right?” Thorin cocked a brow. 

“O’ course! They’d o’ known ye even if I didn’t tell ‘em. And they know you’re under so they won’t bring attention ta ye.” 

“All right.” Thorin raised his palms in surrender. It’s not that he doubted his best friend's skill. Dwalin was more likely to go way overboard than not. The three dwarrow he’d chosen were just some pretty interesting characters.

“Hey.” Dwalin shoved him again, interrupting his thoughts. “Ye ready ta do some actual work now?”

“Fine.” Thorin sighed. He’d much rather be visiting his hobbit again, but he had a cover to maintain. 

Over the next couple days, he made a point to make several trips to the medical ward using any excuse he could find. He couldn’t quite tell if he was making any progress with his hobbit. Bilbo seemed both more and less comfortable around him in a strange dichotomy of character. But all Thorin could do was keep going to see him and chip away at his defenses a little bit a at a time. 

“Come on,” Thorin ordered his cousin on the fourth morning of his time under as he left the barracks. 

“Come on where?” Dwalin groaned, not sure he wanted to be dragged around so early. 

“There’s someone I need to see in the library.”

“Ye know I know who yer someone is, right?” Dwalin retorted unimpressed. 

“Shut up. It’s not just him. Just come on,” Thorin further ordered, and they made their way down to the library. 

_~Bilbo~_

“You mean flowers actually have meanings?” Ori asked as he distractedly copied from an old manuscript. 

“Oh, yes.” Bilbo rubbed his tired eyes. “Every flower has a meaning. We have a whole language in flowers.”

“Really?!” Ori glanced over in surprise. “It sounds like I could write a whole book just on that!”

“You could, actually, as many flowers can have more than one meaning and learning to understand how to use them together to send a message is no different than learning the proper grammar and syntax of any other language.”

“That’s fascinating! You must tell me more!”

“Well, it’s . . . I hardly have time to teach you all the flowers and their meanings in the midst of this sort of work.” Bilbo gestured to the books they were copying from. 

“I know,” Ori sighed in disappointment. “Well, tell me more about the Tooks then.”

A throat cleared near them before Bilbo could resume his lecture on one of the most prominent families of the Shire. He looked up and nearly startled at the increasingly familiar dwarf he found standing on the other side of their worktable. A thread of panic wrapped around his insides before he remembered he’d already met Thorin in the library before. Of course, he already knew Bilbo worked there. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting.” The dwarf’s apology seemed solely intended for him as his eyes were locked on Bilbo's. “I had business this way and thought I would stop to see how you were this morning.” He continued with a look in his eyes that made Bilbo feel both warm and alarmed at the same time. 

“I-I am . . . well.” Bilbo answered hesitantly, his eyes shifting about trying to avoid eye contact. “W-What business brings you?” He tried to move on. 

“Actually, I need to speak with Mister Ori here. Do you have your paper work?” He turned to the young dwarf.

“O-oh, Aye!” Ori slipped off of his bench and reached into his satchel for a couple of folded up pieces of parchment. “C-can we speak privately?”

“Of course,” Thorin agreed, and Bilbo watched then as they walked far enough away to not be overheard. He strained his ears to listen in as Ori unfolded the papers and talked quietly about them, pointing to the page here and there. He could hear them well enough, thanks to his sharp hearing, but they were speaking in Khuzdul, and he was far from fluent. The only word he could be sure he knew was ‘expenses’ but he had no clue what it could be referring to. 

After a few moments, Thorin pocketed the papers and thanked Ori who nodded and escaped back to his worktable. Thorin followed him over, seemingly intent on resuming their conversation until the other big warrior looking dwarf cleared his throat loudly. 

Thorin turned as the other dwarf crossed his arms and quirked a brow. He turned back to Bilbo. 

“I seems I’m being summoned away,” Thorin sighed. “It's good to see you. Perhaps I will see you again later.” He offered a small smile.

“Perhaps,” Bilbo's eyes flitted up to meet the dwarf’s gaze for only a moment before lowering again. 

Thorin bid them farewell and rejoined his cousin as they left.

“So.” Ori drew out the vowel. “What’s going on with you and him?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Bilbo countered more derisively than he intended. He scolded himself mentally. It wasn’t any of his business what they were getting up to. “Sorry, I-I didn’t-“

“You think there something between him and me?” Ori sounded like it could be a good joke. 

“Um . . . “

“It's the . . . job I told you about, remember? The book? I have to record my expenses for my employer. . . . He just picks up the paperwork,” Ori assured. “Why?” He asked suspiciously.

“No reason.” Bilbo shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I’m just tired.” That was why he was thinking of such pointless things. 

“Okay.” Ori accepted easily. “It’s just, you two seemed familiar.”

“We see each other occasionally . . . because of work.”

“I see,” Ori hummed, and Bilbo got the distinct feeling that he was being analyzed. “And do you know that o-other dwarf that was with him?” Ori's demeanor morphed into something more shy. 

“I . . . I don’ know his name. I only know they're cousins,” Bilbo answered, taking his turn to study his dwarf coworker. 

“Oh.” 

Bilbo didn’t get to ask him why he wanted to know before one of the bookkeepers shouted at them to stop talking and get back to work. They both shoved their noses back into their books and continued working with renewed vigor. Neither were eager to get fired. 

_~Thorin~_

“I’m going, Dwalin!” Thorin insisted as his cousin followed after him, trying to make him see reason. “I haven't seen him all day!”

“And what reason do ye have for goin’ to the kitchens? Ye think he ain’t gonna notice you’re showin’ up just to see ‘im if ye don’t have an excuse?”

“I want to see him!” Thorin spun on him. He’d gotten used to seeing him at least once a day, but Dwalin had kept him busy today, and no one had needed a visit to the infirmary which meant he hadn’t seen his precious hobbit even once! He needed to see him, if only for a few moments.

“Aye. But it’s late. He may not even still be there.”

“Whose fault is that?!” Thorin shot over his shoulder. “We don’t know he’s gone yet!”

Dwalin sighed but stayed behind him. Obviously, there was no convincing his cousin away from this course. They quickly approached the kitchens and arrived shortly. Stopping just inside the door, Thorin scanned the facilities for any telltale signs of his hobbit One but found nothing. Maybe Dwalin was right. 

“Hey.” He grabbed one of the few kitchen aides that were still milling around and cleaning up for the next morning. The round ginger-haired dwarf turned to him with wide eyes. “Do you know Mister Baggins, the hobbit?”

“Uh, p-possibly. Do you?” the aide returned suspiciously, not willing to reveal anything just yet. 

“Yes. I was hoping to talk to him,” Thorin answered. 

“Well, I-I’m sure whatever the problem is, he didn’t do it. He’s a good hobbit,” the ginger dwarf defended. 

“What? No. I’m not- he’s not in trouble.” Thorin remembered he was still decked out in his soldier attire. “I know him personally. I just wish to speak with him. See how he is.”

The ginger dwarf glanced back at Dwalin who loomed behind Thorin. “How do I know you aren’t looking for trouble?” 

Thorin internally bemoaned the loss of his royal braids. “I’m not. I just want to make sure he’s doing all right. We met in the medical ward.” Thorin tried to allay the aide’s fears. 

“Oh, he did seem a bit under the weather today.” The round dwarf admitted. “You actually just missed him. You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives by any chance!”

“Uh--“

“He left without these.” The aide picked up a couple of small crates. “It’s just scraps and left overs, but he’s been having a bit of a rough time, every little bit helps. Do you think you could deliver it?”

“You said he just left?” Thorin asked, absently taking the little crates. 

“Aye. Just before you arrived.”

Thorin looked down at his load. If they hurried, they could catch up, maybe even find out where Bilbo was staying. “All right. We’ll make sure he gets it.” He nodded in determination. 

“Excellent! You best hurry. He moves fast for being just a wee thing.” The aide advised before returning to his work. 

“What are ye thinkin’?! We don’t know where he lives!” Dwalin shouted as they rushed through the halls. 

I know he leaves out the front gate. If we catch up, maybe we can tail him and find out,” Thorin turned back just long enough to hand the crates off to his cousin. Dwalin huffed at the unceremonious pass but didn’t try to argue. 

They headed for the gate and nearly sprinted through it as they still hadn’t caught sight of the hobbit. It wasn’t until they entered the main road outside that Thorin finally caught a glimpse of his One. He smacked Dwalin’s chest to direct his attention the way they needed to go. 

After that, they were able to catch up and follow the hobbit and his tiny tag-along relatively easy. Thorin watched them closely, trying to figure out where the two could be living. It had to be close if it was within walking distance.

A wagon passed by on the road. It was a public transport wagon, probably the last one of the evening. It traveled around the city on a circuit and could provide a free ride from one part of the city to another. Thorin almost panicked when he spotted his hobbit make a dash for the moving wagon, lift up his tiny companion onto the rear steps, and hop up himself. 

Cursing, Thorin sprinted to catch the wagon before they lost it and his One with it. Dwalin was right behind him as they caught the slow moving transport and threw themselves up into it. 

Fortunately, Bilbo and his little one had moved further into the wagon and taken one of the seats, so their hop aboard hadn’t been noticed. They lingered at the back, Dwalin still awkwardly carrying the little crates as they watched to see where the hobbit would get off. 

About ten minutes later, Thorin spotted his One getting up to talk to the driver. A moment later, the wagon pulled to a stop and the hobbits hopped off, waving gratefully to the driver. 

Thorin and Dwalin made sure to hop off the opposite side and waited until the wagon drove away to see where the hobbits would go next. It was almost a costly mistake, and Bilbo and is daughter were already shrinking in the distance once the wagon had moved and they could see him again. They rushed after him, following through alleys and streets until they came to a public lift station. 

Thorin cursed again, realizing his One intended to take one of the little boxes to another level of the city. They couldn’t use the same one without being exposed. They would have to hope there was another available. 

Bilbo paid at the little gate leading to the lift dock and was directed to an available box. Thorin nearly charged through the gate to try to keep track of them and left Dwalin to deal with the gatekeeper. Bilbo and his charge shuffled into their lift and were shortly being lowered downwards. 

Another lift was just docking nearby, and Thorin nearly tossed the poor dwarf out in his haste to claim it. Dwalin barely made it in before he was switching the lever down and descending. Dwalin grumbled something at him, but Thorin was too busy watching his hobbit’s lift through the grated walls to pay any attention. If he lost track of them now, all this effort would have been pointless. 

He kept waiting for the lift to stop at each level as they descended, but it didn’t. When it finally slowed to a stop at the lowest level available to the lift, Thorin started getting a bad feeling in his gut. 

Watching and waiting for his hobbit to emerge from the lift, Thorin was almost convinced he lost the two hobbits and followed the wrong lift. But, it wasn't the case, his One stepped out of the lift and hurried on with his little one in tow. 

“What’s he doin’ way down here?” Dwalin muttered as they stepped out of their own metal box.

“I don’t know,” Thorin returned, carefully tracking his hobbit while allowing enough distance between them to disguise their following. He didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.

They continued to follow the two hobbits through dark dirty streets, growing only more concerned as the hobbits aimed downward to yet a lower level. They followed with growing unease until they reached a slummy little division that made even Dwalin feel the need to keep looking over his shoulder before Bilbo finally slowed. 

Thorin ducked behind a large barrel sitting outside one of the dwellings that seemed to pass as housing in these parts, dragging Dwalin along with him, just as Bilbo stopped and glanced around. Peering between the barrel and the building to watch his hobbit scan the area once more, Thorin watched as Bilbo unlocked the literal hole-in-the-wall and disappeared inside. 

His mind reeled at the revelation. What was his hobbit doing down here?! This place was dangerous! Why was he living _here_ , of all places?!

“The wee hobbit’s got guts,” Dwalin commented grimly, looking over his shoulder again. "Why ain’t he livin' in the servant quarters?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well? Ye came all this way. Ye gonna deliver this or what?” Dwalin shoved the crates back into his cousin’s arms. 

“I should be taking him out of this place.”

“One step at a time.” Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder. “Start with makin’ sure he’s fed.” He pointed at the crates. 

“Right.” Thorin nodded, still deeply disturbed by his One’s situation. Leaving their hiding spot, he slowly approached the door he’d seen his hobbit disappear into. He stopped at the rickety looking wooden door. The lock seemed a hollow security as he figured he could easily break down the whole door with a well placed shove.

Knocking lightly, he didn't want to attract unwanted attention or cause unnecessary fear to the occupants. For a few moments, there was absolute silence inside. Just as he was about to knock again, he heard the lock click, and the door opened just enough for one cautious eye to peer out. 

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Thorin rumbled lowly. “You forgot this and one of the kitchen aides asked me to deliver it.” He held up the crates.

The door open a little more as Bilbo recognized him, and he studied the crates then Thorin. “H-how did you . . . Th-Thank you.” He opened the door enough to carefully take the offered boxes. 

“Of course. I apologize again for scaring you,” Thorin returned. Movement by his hobbit’s legs caught his attention, and he glanced down to find a tiny, curly-hair framed face. She was unmistakably his One’s child. Despite his short time knowing Bilbo, he could pick out all the subtle traits she inherited from his lovely other half. 

He had thought he would be jealous, even angry upon meeting the evidence of his One’s previous lover. He was unprepared for the awe and devotion that filled his chest at the sight of her. She was beautiful, and all he wanted was to make sure she had everything she could possibly want. Give them both everything they could possibly want. A soft smile spread across his face. “Hello, Mizimith.”

His distraction left him unprepared for his hobbit's cold reply. “Don’t call her that.” When he looked up, Bilbo was rigid. 

“Dahlia. Go inside. Now.” Bilbo’s quiet voice was like steel. She obeyed, shuffling out of sight, and he set the crates inside the door before stepping out and closing it behind him. 

Thorin stepped back, cautiously taking in his One’s posture and complexion. Had he been that pale before? 

“Did you follow me?” Bilbo demanded harshly. 

“I--“

“You did, didn’t you?” The hobbit nodded as if confirming it himself. “I knew it! Unacceptable!”

“Bilbo, I--“

“Look. Thank you for the food, but I do _not_ want you here. I don’t care who you are. I don’t know what you want from me, but following me and showing up at my home is unacceptable!” Bilbo scolded in hushed tones. “And don’t you ever call her that again! She is not your little jewel or anything else for that matter! Do you understand me?!” 

“Yes.” Thorin dipped his chin in meek compliance. “I apologize.”

“Good! Then get out of here and don’t ever show up here again or I’ll . . . I-I’ll . . .” Bilbo’s bravado failed as the hard truth hung between them. He’d What? There was nothing he could do. Who would he go to if a soldier, a member of the royal guard, wished him harm, even more so in a place like this? 

Thorin gazed into the hobbit’s eyes and found the true source of the anger: fear. Bilbo was breathing hard and his face was white, not the red of anger. It was clear they both knew who had the upper hand in this situation. 

“I apologize again.” Thorin backed away, giving his frightened One some space. “I meant no harm.”

“Please, just leave,” Bilbo whispered, leaning back against his door tiredly.

Thorin nodded and offered a deep bow before walking away. It went against all his instincts to leave his One in that dangerous place, but he grabbed Dwalin and hurried back to the palace, the sound of the rickety wooden door swinging shut behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin gets some advice from his suite-mates and is determined to talk to Bilbo again. When he does, he makes yet another infuriating discovery. Poor Bilbo's just tired and doesn't understand why the dwarf cares so much.
> 
> Mizimith - Jewel that is young


	11. A Housing Application

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!😁

Bilbo shut and locked the door, his shaking hands making it difficult to work the simple mechanism. Leaning with his back against the door, he ran a hand over his face. He didn’t think he’d ever been so terrified before in his life, and he’d been in many a horrible situations in his life, so that was saying something. If only it hadn’t been _that_ dwarf, maybe then he wouldn’t have been so affected. 

He looked down to find Dahlia staring up at him in concern. “Is he a bad dwarf?” she wondered innocently. 

“N-No, no. I-I don’t know.” He shook his head, feeling entirely inadequate. He was supposed to be strong for her, and here he was falling apart because of an unexpected visitor. Granted, having a visitor in these parts was a terrifying prospect on its own, but he had know this dwarf. . . And now that dwarf knew where he lived. A wave of shame and despair overcame him, and he slumped to the floor, burying his head in his hands. 

Dahlia’s small form pressed against his side, her little arms wrapping around his middle tenderly. It only made him cry harder, though he kept it silent. He didn’t deserve Her. It was just as well that Thorin would never speak to him again after this. He didn’t deserve such attention.

Dahlia sat with him until he could wipe his tears away. “Thank you, darling. I’m fine,” he sniffled, holding the small arm partly wrapped around his chest. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m not a good papa.”

“You’re the best papa.” She squeezed. “Because you’re my papa.”

Bilbo had to fight back the renewed tears threatening to fall. Pulling her into his arms, he rested his cheek on her head. They sat for a little while cuddling before he finally pushed her up to her feet. “It’s getting late. Let’s find you something to eat, so we can get you to bed.” He still had to prepare her something to work on tomorrow. 

“Okay,” she agreed easily, and they got up to do so. 

_~Thorin~_

Thorin marched back to the castle, refusing to answer or even respond to Dwalin’s inquiries. Eventually his cousin got the hint and stopped asking questions. They rode the lift to the upper levels in silence before walking to the castle. 

Frankly, Thorin just needed some space. His heart and mind were a storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions. None of them were good, and he used the time spent traversing back to the castle to wrangle them into some semblance of order. He would have plenty to say when they were in the privacy of their quarters. 

It was late, or, more accurately, early, by the time they made it to the barracks. Thorin burst into their shared suite but still couldn’t stop due to the pent up energy of his anger, so he started pacing. 

“What bloody happened?” Dwalin shouted, tired of waiting. 

“You saw where he was! You saw what happened!” Thorin yelled back. 

“Aye! I saw him tell ye off! Are ye really gonna leave him there? That place ain’t safe! What about his wee one? Ye really gonna just let it go? Give up?”

“Of course not!” Thorin bellowed. 

“So what then? Ye angry cause he blew up at ye? He was scared, even I could see that!”

“You think I’m angry at him?” Thorin paused his pacing to turn incredulous eyes on his cousin. “How could I— No! He was frightened! He was trying to protect himself and his child! Yes, it hurt, but I can’t blame him for that!”

“Then what is goin’ on with ye?”

“Hey, what’s all the shoutin' about?” One of their suite-mates ambled out of his room, awoken from the commotion. 

“Sounds like love troubles.” Another older and scarred dwarf shuffled out of a different room. 

“The prince found himself a lover, has he?” The first dwarf eyed Thorin curiously. 

“Silence!” Thorin ordered. “Nothing that is discussed here is to be repeated, understand?!”

The two dwarrow stared for a moment. “Guess ya were right.” The first commented. 

“Krum, Grimak, this is serious,” Dwalin scolded. “This information is not to be shared.”

“Aye, aye, boss.” The younger Grimak gave a mock salute and ambled over to take a seat at the table. 

“You too, Bifur,” Dwalin directed at the last dwarf to emerged from his private sleeping quarters. 

“So, what sort of lovers’ quarrel ye caught up in then?” The graying Krum wondered as he shuffled over to a couch.

“It was not a lovers’ quarrel! We’re not even lovers!” Thorin resumed his pacing. 

“But, ye’d like to be,” Grimak ventured. The three of them had quickly grown accustomed to lodging with the crown prince and often took their roles of not treating him specially a little too flexibly. 

“That’s-that’s not the point right now!” Thorin couldn’t bring himself to deny it. 

Krum released a groaning sigh. “Shoulda known that’s what this was all about. Just another royal lookin’ to have some fun before takin’ the throne.”

There was a silence ,and the room became thick with tension as Thorin stalked closer with a dark glower. “You think I’m ‘playing?’ You think this is a joke? That I’m messing around for fun?! My One is living in the deepest slums of the mountain where soldiers don’t even patrol, and you think this is about avoiding my responsibilities?!”

“Ye found yer one?” Krum asked undisturbed by his prince’s threatening display. 

“Yes,” Thorin answered after a pause. “But he does not know me.” 

“Why don’t ya just touch ‘im and show ‘im?” Grimak suggested. 

“The touch doesn’t work for him! More than that, he is wary and fearful of me!” Thorin threw up his hands in frustration. 

“Ouch,” Grimak sympathized. 

“That is . . . unusual. I’ve not heard of such a situation between dwarrow before. No wonder you’re frustrated.” Krum stroked the turf of his gray beard where it stuck out of a thick cylindrical bead. 

“That is why I’m here. I can’t have it known he’s my One when he doesn’t even know it himself, and I can't court him as a prince when he’s already distrustful of me.” Thorin continued to pace. 

“And ye can’t just pull 'im out of the slums since he don’t trust ye,” Krum added. 

“Yes!”

“Why’s he even down there? How’d ya find 'im? Don’t know many from the slums who come to balls.” Grimak scratched his head. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t meet him at the ball. Well, I did, but it wasn’t the first time I met him.”

“He works in the palace,” Dwalin informed. 

“Then why don’t he live in the servant division?” Grimak added.

“I don’t know!”

“So what are ye goin’ ta do?” Krum pressed. “Sounds like ye need more information.” 

“I . . . “ Thorin sighed. “I need to talk to him. . . . But he’s not very happy with me right now.”

“Why?” Grimak asked.

“‘Cause we followed ‘im home,” Dwalin supplied when Thorin wouldn’t answer. 

“No wonder he don’t trust ye! Why’d ye go and do that for?” Krum threw his hands up. 

“His residence wasn’t recorded. I just wanted to know where he was staying. How am I supposed to protect him if I don’t know where he lives?” Thorin defended.

“Why don’t ya just tell ‘im he’s yer one. Even if he don’t feel it, I don’t know anyone who would have a problem with being the next king’s consort,” Grimak wondered. 

“He’s not like that.” Thorin shook his head. “Besides, things aren’t quite that simple with him.”

“Well, ye can’t just leave him down there. What about the wee lass? It ain’t safe!” Dwalin insisted. 

“He’s got a wee one?” Grimak noted.

“I know! But what can I do? I can’t force him to leave! You heard him! He said never to come back!” Thorin rebutted. 

“Aye! To his house. Doesn’t mean ye can’t talk to 'im at work,” Dwalin pointed out. 

“What if he’s still angry at me?” Thorin mumbled meekly. 

“Then he’ll tell ye off again! Ye gonna let that stop ye from gettin' 'im somewhere safe?”

“No.” Thorin took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I'll go see him in the morning and find out why he’s living down there. . . He's new to the city. Maybe he doesn’t know about the servant division.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Krum nodded. “Now, are ye done ragin' or do we need to stay up the rest of the night as well?”

Thorin scoffed. “Go back to bed. I find it hard to believe you could hear me over the rumble of your own snoring,” he quipped, and Grimak snickered into his beard.

“Perhaps if you Durin’s didn’t shake the whole mountain with yer bellows, I wouldn’t have,” Krum grumbled as he shuffled back to his room. 

Thorin rolled his eye, and Grimak slunk to his room as well, still snickering.

“Try ta get some sleep. We’ll figure out what we need to do after ye talk ta him in the morning.” Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder as he too retreated to his quarters. 

The door shut behind him, and then it was just Thorin and the strange character that was Bifur. The quite two-toned dwarf approached once the others had left. “Congratulations.” He grunted in rough Khuzdul. “A One is precious. Good luck.” 

“Thank you.” Thorin dipped his head. 

Bifur slapped his arm in camaraderie and headed to his room. 

Sighing, Thorin doubted he would get much sleep that night but wandered to his private space regardless, determined to at least rest and rehearse how he was going to greet his One in the morning.

_~Bilbo~_

Bilbo slowly took his seat at his work desk. The night had been miserable. He’d been so paranoid and anxious after Thorin’s unexpected visit he hadn’t been able to calm enough to sleep. Unable to rest, he’d decided to get an early start and stop by the housing office to ask about his latest application for the servants’ district. 

The answer he’d gotten was . . . disheartening, but he was too tired to be as upset about it as he would normally be. Rubbing his eyes, he wondered how much longer he could keep up the impossible cycle he’d fallen into. No one was going to help him. There was no way he could work them to a better place. All he could do was pour everything he had into his daughter and hope it helped her break from the prison of poverty and disregard he found himself trapped in. Even if it drove him to the grave, he owed her that much. 

He forced his eyes to focus, barely registering Ori’s greeting, as he began copying. Ori went quiet after the lack of response and resumed his own work. They hadn’t been working very long when a deep voice spoke over Bilbo’s desk, the low unmistakable tones giving his tired body a shot of adrenaline. 

Bilbo's head shot up to stare wide-eyed at that dwarf. “Th-Thorin?”

“You . . . didn’t say I couldn’t visit you at work,” Thorin said meekly.

“Wh-what?” Bilbo stared, too shocked to really process what was happening. “W-Why are you here?” After the way Bilbo had treated the dwarf, he certainly hadn’t expected to see Thorin anytime soon. He glanced past the noble and found his imposing cousin standing behind with his arms crossed and looking disagreeable. Bilbo paled. Was this about revenge?

“I wished to speak to you about . . . about last night,” Thorin hinted. “Why are you living down there?” He continued when Bilbo only continued to stare blankly. “It’s not safe—“

“Shh!” Bilbo cut him off with a frantic wave of his hands. “Uh, can we—can we speak more privately?” he suggested quietly. Despite his fears, this didn’t exactly feel like a hit and wouldn’t they wait to get him alone? Not attack him in a public place?

Thorin nodded and gestured for Bilbo to lead the way. 

“Dahlia. Stay with Ori. I’ll be right back.” Bilbo slipped off his bench and led the dwarf to one of the more secluded sections of the library. Glancing around, he made sure they were alone after reaching a quiet area. “What do you want?” Anxiety and fear twisted his gut as he faced off against the large dwarf for the second time. 

“I am sorry for sticking my nose in your business. I’m sorry for following you home, it was dishonorable and uncalled for, but I had no ill intentions,” Thorin seemed to plead. “But it is not safe down there. You must know that!”

“You think I don’t?!” Bilbo snapped in growing desperation. “You think I want to live in that place?! Keep Dahlia there?!”

“Then why are you still living there? There are other options!”

“There are no other options!” Bilbo whisper yelled. “You think I haven’t tried?! There is no where else for us!”

“That's not so. You are a servant of the palace, a royal servant, many times over. There is a residential district near the castle set aside specifically for workers of the castle. You only need to apply, and I’m sure they would—“

“I know about the servant district! You think I haven’t tried that?! There’s no room there for a _hobbit!_ ” Bilbo hissed as if his own race was an insult. 

“Th-that’s not true. Perhaps they simply haven’t reviewed your application yet.”

“I’ve put in three bloody applications! The first two were outright ignored! I went back this morning to ask about the third one, and this is what they had to say!” Bilbo whipped a paper from his tunic and unfolded it before reading. “Your application has been denied as the royal servants’ district is reserved for dwarrow servants of the king only!” He smacked the page against Thorin’s chest. “If you have a problem with where I live, take it up with your bloody king!” He breathed deeply and fought back the tears of his renewed frustration. “There are no other options for us.” 

“That . . . can’t be.” Thorin stared at the paper and Bilbo knew what the dwarf would find. It was most certainly a housing application, and there at the bottom were the exact words the hobbit had read in unforgiving ink. “What?” Thorin scowled as if truly baffled. “This is nonsense! There’s no policy that says that the servants’ district is for dwarrow only!” He smacked the paper angrily. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Bilbo chewed his lip, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “Because they have the power to refuse us and . . . there’s nothing I can do about it.” He wiped the moisture from his eyes. 

“No, they don’t,” Thorin growled. “It’s not their job to accept or deny applications based on race.” His hands shook as he visibly struggled not to crush the paper.

“I still can’t do anything about it.” Bilbo shrugged, his frustration fading away into resignation. 

“You could appeal to the royal family.”

Bilbo huffed a humorless laugh. “Right. Because they’ll care about some random hobbit. My appeal would probably be thrown out before it even reached a member of the royal family. I’m nobody. No one is going to listen to me. Believe me . . . I know,” he sighed. 

“I care.” Bilbo’s head snapped up at the growled words. Thorin looked furious, and Bilbo stepped back reflexively. 

“Wh-what can you do?” He overcame his fright. “Y-you’re just a soldier.” 

“I am a noble soldier,” Thorin corrected. “May I keep this? I will see that your situation is brought before the royal family.”

Bilbo shrugged. “It’s not like I need it, but . . . it’s not going to matter, you know.”

“I’ll make it matter.” Thorin folded and pocketed the paper. “I promise.”

Bilbo studied him. The dwarf’s eyes were so earnest. It made him want to believe, but he just didn’t have it in him anymore. “Why? Why do you even care? I’m just a hobbit.”

“Because you deserve it,” Thorin answered without hesitation, and Bilbo was speechless. “I’m sorry for interrupting your work. I hope to see you again soon.” The dwarf bowed and walked away.

Bilbo’s eyes followed him as he left, still stunned by the response. He ‘deserved it?’ Why? Of all the many things he deserved, he didn’t think being cared about was one of them. He walked back to his desk in a daze. He didn’t understand the strange dwarf, and, frankly, he was too tired to try. It’s not like it would matter. Nothing would come of Thorin’s efforts, but Bilbo supposed the sentiment was still flattering.

Ori gave him a curious look as he sat and picked up his pen. Ignoring it, he got back to work. He didn’t know what he’d say anyway.

_~Thorin~_

“Take it things didn’t go well.” Dwalin tried to keep up as Thorin marched through the halls. “He yell at ye again?”

“He’s been denied housing in the servant’s district,” Thorin answered curtly.

“What? Are ye sure? He works in the palace three times over. Why would they do that? Maybe he’s just misunderstandin’.”

Thorin stopped and spun around suddenly, slamming a piece of paper into his cousin’s chest. “There’s no misunderstanding!”

Dwalin raised a brow but took the paper and looked it over. “What?” He responded with the same confusion Thorin had. “They can’t do that? Is that even a policy?”

“No.”

“Well, no wonder the poor lad is stuck in the slums. If the palace ain’t willin’ ta house ‘im, I bet there aren’t many who are. I thought the palace offered equal opportunity?”

“It’s supposed to! I mean,” Thorin paused, “it may not be specifically stated in the policies, but that was the reason castle jobs were made available to the public.” He thought for a moment. “Though, now that I think about it, Bilbo is the only non-dwarf I can think of that works there.”

“I’ve known of others,” Dwalin corrected. “Were a few men working the royals stables a while back, but they didn’t stay long. There were rumors of discrimination, but it only held weight among the men. We were told to discount their nonsense.” 

“So maybe there’s a reason only dwarrow work in the palace,” Thorin deducted grimly. “It’s unacceptable.”

“Is it?” Dwalin raised his hands in surrender when Thorin turned on him with a dark glare. “Not sayin’ I don’t support yer hobbit, but ye really want a bunch of men working in the palace?” 

Thorin stopped before he could snap a defensive reply. It was true. Even to him the idea of men wandering the castle made him uneasy. Why? Because they were men? What if it were hobbits? Just because they weren’t dwarrow? The palace positions _had_ been opened up to make more jobs for their own people. But there were many men that held permanent residences in Erebor, some had even been born there. Were they inferior simply because they were men, despite being more Ereborian than dwarrow immigrants?

Part of him felt that, yes, of course they were inferior because Erebor was, first and foremost, a dwarrow kingdom. But, that would mean his One was also inferior and undeserving of the opportunities offered to dwarror Ereborians. 

Thorin couldn’t accept that. Bilbo wasn’t less deserving simply because he was a hobbit. Thorin snarled and turned to continue his course. Right now he needed to take care of his One and deal with whoever thought they could deny his hobbit safe housing just because of his race. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin takes immediate measures to deal with Bilbo's situation. Bilbo goes missing and Thorin's stomach ties in knots as he rushes to find him.


	12. A Missing Hobbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!🥰

Thorin marched through the palace back to the very halls he had abandoned for the duration of his stay in the barracks.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be under. What are ye doin’?” Dwalin tried to slow him down as they quickly approached the royal wing. “Ye drag the royal family into this, they’re gonna know somethin’s up with ye and the hobbit.”

“I’m not going to Adad, and I don’t have to be a prince to visit the royal advisor. Considering he’s your brother, nobody even needs to know I’m the one seeking him out," Thorin corrected without slowing down. 

Dwalin grunted in acknowledgement and lengthened his strides to catch up so they would be walking side by side. When they finally arrived at Balin’s study, Dwalin led the way in, providing Thorin’s cover. 

“Brother. Your highness.” Balin stood and greeted his prince with a bow. “What can I do for ye? I was under the impression ye were under?”

“I need you to do something for me, Balin.” Thorin took the application he’d gotten from Bilbo and slapped it onto Balin’s desk.

Balin raised his brows and took his seat again to look over the document. “The hobbit again? What would ye have me do?”

“Fix it! He has been denied housing simply because he isn’t a dwarf!”

“Aye. It’s a shame but not unprecedented. The servants’ housing district has traditionally only been open to dwarrow.”

“That is not a written policy!”

“No, not written or official, but it has been unofficial since the establishing of the district. It had been . . . intrinsically understood that it is reserved for dwarrow workers.”

“That’s unacceptable! As if dwarrow are the only ones in need of work and housing!” Thorin raged.

“No, but this is Erebor, a dwarrow kingdom—“

“That has a growing percentage of non-dwarrow inhabitants! Are they second class citizens simply because they aren’t dwarrow?!” 

“Now, Thorin, ye and I both know that they aren’t citizens at all. Only dwarrow can apply for citizenship. All others are considered visitors or traders,” Balin tried to reason. 

“Why?! Why should we deny devoted, sincere people the benefits of our kingdom just because of their race? Why have we even allowed them to enter if that’s the case? We should deny them all permanent residency then!” Thorin paced angrily. 

Balin merely shrugged. “It was decided that the accessibility of extra business and expertise of men was preferable to having to import or travel.”

“Yet we do not support them in their business?! We benefit from their presence and give them nothing in return?!” 

“We give them business,” Balin argued. 

“You know as well as I do that men are paid less and pay more in our markets,” Thorin rebutted. “It's a wonder we have any men traders.” He threw his hands up. 

Balin sighed. “It is hardly a perfect system and, perhaps, due for some updating in light of the recent immigration patterns. But, may I point out that our own people receive similar treatment in the towns of men.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Balin raised his palms in surrender. “Tell me, is this about inequality in Erebor? Or about the hobbit?” He studied his prince with keen eyes.

“Both! Bilbo is a servant of the castle three times over! Oin has nothing but praises for both his skill and work ethic! He’s not on any security watch lists, and he has a bloody child for Mahal’s sake! Yet he has been denied a safe home and been forced to live in the deepest slums of the mountain!” Thorin roared as he paced. 

“Surely there are other options for him.” 

“No! Because, apparently, all of Erebor has followed the conduct of the palace and has denied him decent housing!”

“That . . . is disturbing,” Balin admitted and looked over the application again. “What would ye have me do?”

“I want him accepted as soon as possible! Find out who is responsible for this and deal with it!” Thorin slammed his finger on the paper. “Get the paperwork and bring it to me. I want to personally approve the details. This application is open for revision until I say so. Am I understood?” 

Balin raised his brows at the growling crown prince. “Understood, sire.”

“Good.” Thorin was only slightly appeased. “I don’t care what strings you have to pull. You have permission to use my name to get it done, but this is a priority, and I expect to have good news within a couple days.” He crossed his arms sternly. 

“I will see to it, yer highnesses.” Balin rolled up the paper and slipped it into his sleeve. “May I just ask one question, sire?”

“No,” Thorin denied, knowing the question that was turning about in the advisor’s head. ‘Why the hobbit?’ Thorin was already exposed to too many, and Balin would likely figure it out soon enough as it was. The white haired dwarf was uncannily perceptive. “Next time, you will have to come to me. Claim you’re visiting your brother in the barracks, if you must. I’ll be waiting.” 

“Yes, sire.” Balin stood and bowed again as Thorin and Dwalin took their leave.

Thorin shook his head as he marched toward the barracks. There was clearly a deeper issue at play here, but his One could not afford to wait even if he chose to battle it out in the royal court. For now, he would do what he had too to take care of his hobbits. There would be plenty of time when he was king to get to the root of the problem. 

_~Bilbo~_

“Bofur,” Bilbo greeted as he approached the familiar dwarf sitting on one of the infirmary cots. “Here I thought Oin was exaggerating about your frequent visits.”

Bofur grinned a wide unrepentant smile. “What can I say? Mining is a dangerous job.” 

Bilbo sighed at the sight of the bloody rags around the dwarf's forearm. “Well, let’s get that taken care of, shall we?” He rolled up his sleeves and got to work. 

Peeling off the dirty wrappings, he started cleaning the wound. It was a jagged cut but fortunately not too deep. “Normally, I wouldn’t advise stitches, but, given your record,” Bilbo gave him a scolding look. “I’m going to stitch it up anyway to keep you from making it worse.”

Bofur laughed jovially as if it were a joke. “Knew you’d take good care of me.” He winked.

Bilbo tensed and looked away. He really did like the cheerful miner, but he could do without the flirting. Not that Bofur wasn’t a wonderful dwarf. Bilbo just wasn’t . . . Well, he just wasn’t. A love life wasn’t really something he needed or wanted right now. He’d be much happier if he could just provide for his daughter. 

Threading his needle, Bilbo got to work on sewing up the dwarf’s arm. He found himself blinking a lot as his vision began to blur. The distinct throbbing that had lingering consistently in the back of his head, flared as he tried to concentrate.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to focus and sewed slowly. Just when he thought he'd regained some clarity, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He couldn’t tell if it was him or the room moving. Something grabbed him, and he jerked to a stop though the room continued to swim. 

“Hey! Ya all right?!” Bofur’s voice filtered in to his groggy brain. He tried to lift his head and stand only for another wave of dizziness to hit him. The miner yanked him to his feet before he could slump any further to the floor, and he gripped Bofur’s arms in a desperate attempt for stability. 

Slowly, with some deep breaths, the dizziness seemed to ebb away, and Bilbo could function again. “Thank you,” he breathed, trying to find his equilibrium again. 

“Ya all right? Ya almost passed out on me there?” Bofur asked. 

Bilbo nodded carefully, fearful of triggering another wave of dizziness. “Yes, I-I’m fine now, thank you.” He patted the dwarf’s arms in encouragement to let him go. Bofur did so hesitantly, watching him carefully. 

“I-I’ve not been sleeping very well lately, is all. Oh dear,” Bilbo said with concern when he looked to Bofur’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” he gently pulled out the needle that had sunk into the dwarf’s flesh in the incident. 

Bofur hissed as the needle slowly emerged from his arm. “Ow.” He winced once it was free. “Don’t mention It. I’m more worried knout you.”

“I-I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry,” Bilbo cleaned up the new small wound he’d made and resumed sewing up the first one. “I-if you wish to file a complaint—“

“Nah, it’s fine, really. Ya sure you’re all right?” Bofur eyed him carefully. 

“I . . . have been a bit worn down lately, but it’s nothing unusual. I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry I stabbed you like that.” Bilbo tied off the thread and began applying honey to both wounds. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a small price for always patchin me up good,” Bofur jested. 

“I'm afraid I didn’t do very well today,” Bilbo returned morosely. 

“Everyone makes mistakes once in a while. Don’t let It bother ya. Just try ta get more sleep,” Bofur advised companionably and slapped his hat on his head. 

“I-I’ll try.” Bilbo nodded, thankful for the easy forgiveness. “And you need to stop picking fights with rocks you can’t win,” he quipped. 

Bofur burst into jovial laughter and mock saluted. “Aye, aye, sir!” He shouted as he left, his laughter echoing in the hall around him. 

Bilbo shook his head and braced himself against the cot. He still had a long day ahead. He needed to be more careful and try to get a good nights sleep tonight.

_~Thorin~_

Thorin had to attend to some duties the next morning. Dwalin kept nagging about the importance of maintaining his cover, so he gave in and helped out with some new recruit training for the first half of the day. It lasted longer than he’d liked and, by the time he managed to get away, it was already late afternoon. 

He sighed at the delay as he made his way to the infirmary. He didn’t have much of an excuse for his visit, but, at this point, he didn’t much care. He just needed to reassure himself that his One was safe and in one piece.

Bursting into the medical ward, Thorin glanced around, looking for his hobbit. 

“What da ye want?” Oin barked, swooping around to check on the new arrival. “Ye don’t look injured.”

“I’m not here for your services.” Thorin continued to cast his gaze around. “I was hoping to see Bilbo.”

Oin stopped to study him. “Why? He don’t need no trouble. Ye best leave him alone, ye hear?”

“I’m not—I’m not here to give him trouble. I just want to see him.” 

Oin raised a bushy brow. 

“Is he still here or not?” 

“Nay,” Oin sighed. “I haven’t seen ‘im today.”

“What?” Thorin stood frozen by the statement. “Did he . . . have the day off?”

“Nay. He doesn’t take time off, and he’s never late. I’d send someone to check on ‘im if I knew where he was staying,” Oin confided.

Thorin's brain was a whirlwind of concern and panic. “He works at the library in the mornings. I’ll go ask if he showed up this morning. You’re sure he didn’t mention taking the day off or something?” He asked once more, desperate for it to be the case.

“Nay, and if he did, I’d be equally concerned. He ain’t takin’ time off for recreational reasons.

“If he happens to show up, send word to me.” He rushed out the doors before the healer could agree.

He hurried down to the royal library at a near sprint. Bursting through the doors, he attracted more than a little attention. He noted some dismissive sneers from some of the scribes milling about. Ignoring them, he singled out one of the older bookkeepers. 

“You!” He targeted one. “I’m looking for the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins! Did he arrive to work this morning?”

“The halfling? I’m not sure.” 

“No.” Another bookkeeper stepped up. “He didn’t. And he didn’t give any sort of notice for being absent either. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get fired—“

“Silence!” Thorin startled the bookkeeper. “Until he is found and his condition is ascertained, he will not be held accountable for today’s absence!” he announced so all would hear and turned to march out. 

It was very unlike the responsible hobbit to miss work without giving a proper head’s up to his employers, and Thorin doubted Bilbo would miss out on the opportunity to work for any minor reason. 

Fear churned in his stomach as he considered the possibilities. If Bilbo hadn’t made it to work, had he been harmed on the way? Had he been mugged and left for dead or targeted for other worse reasons? Had he even left his home? Could some lowlife had broke into his home and killed him and his precious lass in their sleep? With every scene his imagination conjured he became more sick to his stomach and desperate to find his One. But even in this state he knew better than to charge down to those slums alone. 

“Dwalin!” Thorin marched to the training arena in the midst of Dwalin over-seeing a set of training spars. Dwalin turned, looking like he was going to snap something back about being busy. But the lack of color on Thorin’s face made the rebuke die on his tongue. The soldier stared with wide eyes. 

“He’s missing,” was all Thorin had to say, and Dwalin was calling the spars to an end and marching out of the arena. By the time he joined Thorin at the edge, he was primed and ready for a chase. “Catch me up.” 

“And you’re sure he ain’t just takin’ a day?” Dwalin asked again after Thorin filled him in on what he knew. 

“He wouldn’t do that without letting his bosses know.”

“A’ight. We goin’ to his house then?”

“Yes, but not on foot.”

“Let’s grab some rams.” Dwalin nodded. 

“Dwalin. If anything’s happened to him—“

“Stop it! Ye don’t know that!” Dwalin pulled him to a stop and made the prince face him. “Ye don't know that yet!”

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. The thought of losing his One made him feel like he might be sick right there. “He has to be okay. I don’t know—I don’t know . . . “ 

“I get it.” Dwalin clapped his shoulder. “We’re gonna find ‘im. It’s gonna be all right.”

Thorin couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it, but the hope gave him the strength to get moving again. They hurried down to the royal stables and saddled a couple of rams before bounding out into the city. 

They made good time with the agile rams. Though the rams could easily travers the many levels in leaps and bounds, they stuck to the path that they knew Bilbo was most likely to take on the off chance that he had been detained on the way. They found nothing, and when they made it to the lifts, they abandoned the mechanical transport in favor of letting the rams do the work. 

Mountain rams were experts at traversing sheer cliff sides, after all. With their intent to descend clear to their mounts, they let the intelligent rams pick their own way down. They reached the bottom in half the time that a lift would have taken and quickly continued on their way. 

They slowed once in the dark slums. If Bilbo was going to be attacked, it would more than likely happen there, so they continued slowly enough to keep an eye out for any signs of foul play. They still found no hint of the hobbit’s whereabouts. 

Finally, they reached the humble dwelling that Bilbo called home, and Thorin hopped off his steed. Knocking on the door, he waited, desperately hoping his One had simply stayed home sick or something. 

When there was no answer, he knocked a little harder. He doubted it was large inside the the modest cave-turned-dwelling and knew they should be able to hear him just fine. When he still didn’t get an answer, he tried the door and found it was locked. The discovery only made him more uneasy. 

“Bilbo. It’s me, Thorin. If you’re in there, please answer me.” He called through the door as loudly as he dared, not wanting to attract too much attention. Only silence answered. “I know you told me not to come here again, but I was worried. If you're in there, please, at least let me know you’re all right.” Still there no answer. 

“Ye think we missed ‘im’?” Dwalin wondered.

Thorin sighed in distress, not knowing what else he could do. “I—"

Just then he heard a small, soft voice on the other side of the door. He put his ear to it desperate to hear it again. “Bilbo?”

“Mr. Thorin?” the soft voice returned. 

It wasn’t Bilbo. The voice was too soft, too . . . “Dahlia? Is that you, little one?

“Yes.”

“Dahlia, where’s Bilbo? Is he in there with you?”

“Papa’s hurt.” Her little voice quivered.

“What happened?” Thorin urged her to keep talking. 

“He’s bleeding. I think he hit his head!” Her volume rose in concern. 

“Dahlia, I need you to open the door. Can you do that?” 

“Papa said to never open the door for anyone,” she whimpered 

“And he’s right. Your papa’s very smart, but he’s also hurt. And, right now, we need to get your papa some help. Please, Dahlia, I just want to help.” There was silence. “Please, we need to get him to Oin. You have to trust me.” He waved Dwalin away who was making motions to knock down the door. 

Thorin didn’t want to frighten the tiny lass. He wanted her trust, not her fear. It needed to be her decision to let him in. 

“I can’t reach it.” Her soft voice drifted through the wood. “It’s too high.”

“The lock? Is there something you can stand on?” As easy as it would be to bust the door down, Thorin didn’t want to leave them even more defenseless than they already were. “Dahlia?”

Instead of an answer, he heard a scraping sound of wood on stone. The door rattled slightly when something pressed up against it, and moments later the lock clicked. Thorin waited to give her time to get safely away from the door. 

“Okay. It’s open.” she called out, and he slowly pushed open the door. 

The chair she had used to reach the lock was still behind the door, but offered little resistance as he forced it to swing inward. The tiny hobbit lass stood just inside, staring up apprehensively and wringing her little dress in her hands. 

“Where is he?” Thorin asked gently.

She pointed, and his eyes finally landed on the crumple body of his One. Thorin lunged to the floor by his hobbit’s side. “Bilbo?” He gently rolled him unto his back. Blood was caked to the side of Bilbo's head, and he didn’t respond to being moved. Thorin checked his pulse and breathed a short sigh of relief. 

“He’s alive. We need to get him to Oin.” He carefully scooped up his limp hobbit. “Dwalin, grab Dahlia! It’s all right. We’re going to take care of you both,” he assured the little lass. “Do you have the key?”

She held it up. “Dwalin, lock up behind us.” Thorin rushed back to his ram. He gently set the hobbit over his shoulder, noting how terribly light the small male was, and pulled himself back up onto the ram before setting Bilbo in front.

Dwalin locked the small dwelling and scooped up Dahlia, hopping onto his own mount. 

“Let’s go!” Thorin spurred his ram into motion, and they raced back through the city, his One cradled securely in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin gets his One some medical help and finds himself the temporary caretaker of one tiny hobbit lass. He quickly realizes it's a bigger challenge than he thought.


	13. A Hungry Hobbitling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! 😉

“Oin!” Thorin thundered as he burst into the infirmary, his small One still cradled in his arms. 

The old healer only took one look before gesturing him to the royal wing. “Get ‘im in a cot!” Oin started grabbing medical supplies.

Thorin didn’t need to be told twice and rushed his hobbit in the private room, gently setting him down on one of the pristine white cots meant for members of the royal family. He wondered if Oin realized the appropriateness of keeping Bilbo in this discrete location. 

Scanning his hobbit for further injuries, Thorin tried to make sure he was lying comfortably. He brushed the curls out of Bilbo’s face, examining the wound once more while he waited for Oin. He didn’t have much time before the master healer marching into the room and shoved his hands aside. 

“What happen?” Oin demanded, promptly beginning his examinations of the unconscious hobbit. 

“We don’t know. We found him in his home like this. It appears he might have fallen and hit his head on a stone table.” Thorin filled in as much as he could. 

“Ye see what happened, lass?” Oin glanced up at Dahlia who was now sitting on a nearby cot with Dwalin hovering protectively. 

“No,” she answered hesitantly. “He always stays up after I go to bed. I found him on the floor when I woke up, and he wouldn’t answer. Is he gonna be okay?” She wrung the little apron of her dress. 

Oin hummed as he inspected the wound, taking a wet cloth and washing away some of the dried blood. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he grunted a few moments later, “Sit ‘im up.” Thorin lifted Bilbo into position and held him steady. Taking a small lantern with a reflective shield on one side, Oin pried Bilbo’s eyes open and shone light into them.

“Put ‘im back.” Oin waved and put his tools aside. “The head injury ain’t so bad. More a scrape than anything, minor impact to his head. The floor probably did more damage than the table.”

“Then why isn’t he awake?” Thorin insisted. 

“Exhaustion? Over worked? Underfed? Probably a combination of them all.” Oin resumed cleaning the wound to wrap it.

“What?” Thorin studied his One again, more carefully. How could he not have noticed such things? 

“Had a few dizzy spells yesterday. Told ‘im to go home and rest. Doubt ‘e listened though. Stubborn hobbit. Hardheaded as any dwarf,” Oin grumbled. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Thorin felt rage spark deep in his chest.

“And who are ye that I should tell ye?” Oin snapped back, setting aside the dirty cleaning rags and grabbing some salve. “Ye’ve been awfully nosy of late. Distractin’ ‘im from work. Who appointed ye his keeper?”

Thorin bristled and had to force down his reflexive response. “He is . . . important to me,” he answered when he had calmed enough to do so. 

“Oh? And why is that?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Thorin growled

“Ain’t it? This poor lad ain’t got anyone else. As ‘is employer, I’ve more responsibility for ‘im than ye.” Oin wrapped Bilbo’s head in clean bandages.

“You nor anyone else in this mountain has more say in his care or welfare than I!” Thorin lost control for a moment. Bilbo was his One and his alone! Taking a deep breath, he reigned himself back in.

Oin paused to stare. “Are ye saying what I think yer saying?”

“It matters not what you think.” 

The healer looked down at the hobbit, then back to Thorin with a raised brow. “A hobbit?”

Thorin crossed his arms in defiance. “You take issue with it?”

“He doesn’t know does ‘e?”

“No.” Thorin deflated at the admission. 

Oin sighed and turned to collect his medical supplies. “Fine. But don’t ye oppress the poor lad. He ain’t yers 'til 'e says so.” 

Thorin glared as the healer left before turning back to his One. Gently lifting Bilbo enough to pull the thin linen blanket out from under him, Thorin tucked it around his slumbering hobbit. He studied Bilbo’s delicate rounded features, caressing his cheek with a gentle brush of his finger tips. Only now did he notice the dark bruises under Bilbo eyes and his pale complexion. His face seemed thinner than was suitable for what he knew of hobbits. How had he missed such signs before?

“So . . . does that mean he’ll be okay?” A soft voice disturbed him from his observations. 

Thorin straitened and turned to the still frightened hobbitling. 

“He’ll be fine,” Oin returned and answered before Thorin could. “He just needs rest and food. He went about adjusting Bilbo, so his arms were over the blanket. 

“Oh.” She didn’t sound comforted. “We don’t have any food. Papa always gets it, but he hasn’t been feeling very well.” There was a loud grumble, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach sheepishly. 

Thorin gaped in horror. “Dwalin!” 

“Aye!” His good friend was moving toward the door before the order could even be given.

“We’ll get ye something ta eat, lassy. Ye just keep watch of yer papa here, ye got that?” Oin gestured to the unconscious hobbit. 

“Yes, sir.” She nodded eagerly. 

“Good lass,” Oin praised and left the room again. 

Now it was just Thorin, his slumbering One, and his (hopefully) future charge. He slowly took a seat next to her on the cot, moving cautiously to not alarm her. “We’ll take care of him.”

She turned big green eyes to him, and he was struck by how beautiful they were, how similar they were to her Papa’s. Though, unlike her papa’s fully, brilliant green eyes, hers had a little ring of brown around the pupil, giving them a bi-colered affect. They seemed fitting somehow, and no less appealing. 

“Why?” she asked, and it took him a moment to remember what they had been talking about. 

“Because . . . he is very important to me. . . . You both are. I want to take care of you.” Even if she could understand the full extend of his feelings, he didn’t think it appropriate to tell her before her father understood them. 

“Are you . . . a friend?” she wondered innocently.

“Yes.” He nodded, accepting that that would would have to be his starting point in his journey to something more. 

“Papa doesn’t have many friends.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “It’s always been just us.” She paused. “I think it’s my fault.”

“Why would you think that?” Thorin asked gently. He couldn’t imagine Bilbo ever blaming her for anything.

“Because we can’t go back to the Shire.” She glanced up with sad eyes. “That's where all the other hobbits live. He doesn’t talk about it, but he lived there before I was born.”

Thorin looked to his One. Was that why two hobbits were trying to make it in a city of dwarrow? “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure your papa has his reasons. And I know he would never blame you for whatever those reasons are. It’s not your fault.”

She sniffed and nodded, chewing on her lip as she tried not to cry. “I just want him to be okay. I want us to be together.”

“I know.” Thorin petted her dark brown curls. 

She sniffed again and scooted closer, leaning against his thigh. Marveling at the show of trust, he continued to pet the tiny head resting against him. They sat in silence, watching over their shared important person, until Dwalin returned with several wrapped packages in his arms. 

Dahlia watched with wide-eyes and watering mouth as they unwrapped several different items to choose from. They set her up with a little lap tray used for those unable to get out of bed to eat and let her pick out her own sandwich. 

They were large sandwiches, practically a whole loaf of bread with some carved meats and cheeses thrown inside. Thorin cut a quarter piece off and set it in front of her, doubtful she would be able to fit any more. 

He and Dwalin also each picked one for their dinner. As they were just beginning to unwrap theirs to eat, Thorin felt a tug on his sleeve. Dahlia’s tray was empty, and she was pointing to the rest of her sandwich as she chewed the last bite. 

Cutting her off another quarter, Thorin also poured her some water from Bilbo’s bedside table. He only managed to take one bite of his own sandwich before she was tugging on his sleeve again. Sharing a wide-eyed look with Dwalin, he gave up and set the rest of the sandwich before her. 

Their own sandwiches forgotten, they watched in disbelief as the tiny lass devoured the rest of her sandwich. When she shoved the last bite in her mouth and turned to stare at Thorin’s largely uneaten dinner, he didn’t even hesitate. He sliced off the very end he had bitten from and stuffed the bite sized portion in his mouth, then placed the rest of his untouched meal on her tray. 

Treating him to a huge, beaming grin, she quickly tore into it. He gave Dwalin an almost helpless look as the sandwich disappeared. With a resigned grunt, Dwalin set his own sandwich down on her tray as well. He hadn’t taken a single bite.

She pushed out a muffled thank you through her stuffed cheeks, and they both watched in mild horror as she decimated, not one, not two, but three large sandwiches. Any one of which would have filled a dwarf.

By the time she finished the third, she had started to slow down. She released a contented sigh after swallowing the last bite and gobbled down the cup of water and another after Thorin refilled it. Finally, she seemed satisfied and chirped another friendly thank you to them both. 

Thorin looked to Dwalin feeling completely out of his depth. His cousin’s responding look only confirmed his suspicions. He had no idea what he was getting into. Suddenly, it seemed imperative that he learn more about his hobbity future family. 

With her belly full, Dahlia leaned into him drowsily. Receiving no resistance, he scooped up the sleepy hobbitling and set her on Bilbo’s cot, lifting the thin blanket enough for her to snuggle in with her papa. Thorin shifted the slumbering hobbit’s arm to make room for her, and she settled in beside him. 

Only when she was comfortable and still did Thorin usher his cousin out to give them some quite. They stopped right outside the doors of the royal wing. 

“Did ye see the way she eats? Ye’d think she was starvin’!” Dwalin gushed. 

“I’m beginning to think that’s not far from the truth.” Thorin felt sick at the thought. If she was that hungry, he could only imagine how hungry Bilbo must be. He could imagine very clearly his precious One sacrificing his own meals for his daughter's sake.

Dwalin looked equally disturbed. 

“I need you to find the young transcriber Ori for me and to send one of the others here to stand guard. I want this room watched at all times. We also need to do something about food. I’m sure Bilbo hasn’t eaten, at least, since last night, and Dahlia should not be going hungry.” 

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed. “I’ll stop by the kitchens and schedule regular meal deliveries.”

“That’s fine, but make sure whoever is guarding knows not to let anyone in but you, me or Oin. I don’t need rumors starting about a hobbit in the royal wing.”

“Aye.” Dwalin nodded, and Thorin waved him on his way. Thorin lingered outside the door for a few minutes as he tried to calm his still shaky nerves. He’d never been as scared in his life as he was when he found his One sprawled out on that dirty floor. Tendrils of that fear were still wrapped around his heart as he considered his hobbit’s condition. How could he have been so blind?

“Ye gonna leave ‘em in there all alone, are ye?” Oin cut through his thoughts. 

“No.” Thorin shook his head. “I just needed some time to calm down.”

“Well, do it inside. People are gonna start talkin’.” Oin shooed him in the door. 

Thorin huffed at the insistence but obeyed. Slipping in quietly, he grabbed one of the visitor’s chairs and carefully set it by the cot before taking a seat. He watched them for some time, alone in the silence. Occasionally, Dahlia would fidget or squirm, snuggling into her father’s side a little more, but Bilbo was alarmingly still. 

Thorin leaned onto the cot, to better study his One. Now that he was looking for them, he could see the tell-tale signs of worry and hardship on his hobbit's face. He didn’t want to think about what Bilbo had been through, was still going through. He needed to do more for them.

He gently brushed the back of his fingers across Bilbo’s cheek, barely touching him for fear of waking his exhausted One. Bilbo stirred at the touch. Before Thorin could pull his hand away, the hobbit turned his face into the touch

Thorin froze, thinking he’d woken his One, but, as Bilbo pressed into his hand, a small smile curled on his lips. Thorin caressed his hobbit's face, gently but with less restraint, finally opening his palm to let Bilbo's cheek rest against his palm. Bilbo exhaled a soft sigh before going still again. 

Much of Thorin's own tension eased at the contact. A One’s touch was a truly healing thing. He pulled his hand away in favor of placing it over Bilbo’s small one before resting his head on his arm on the cot beside his hobbit. 

He had almost dozed off when a knock sounded at the doors. Dahlia stirred at the sound, and he petted her curly head as it popped up before going to answer it. Under her groggy, curious gaze, he stepped out of the room. 

Dwalin was there with, Grimak, Ori, and the same round kitchen aide whom Thorin had met before.

“Grimak, Bifur and Krum have all be briefed on their posts. Grimak will be taking first watch.” Dwalin gestured to the specified dwarf. I grabbed an aide from the kitchen and found the library worker ye wanted.” He nodded to the bashful scribe. 

“Thank you.” Thorin took the tray from the round kitchen aide. “See to it that regular, large meals are delivered until I say otherwise. If anyone gives you a hard time about it, let me know.” The cook assistant nodded with wide-eyes. "You may go." The kitchen aide quickly took his leave.

“Dwalin, take this in. D- _She's_ starting to wake up. She might be hungry again.” He handed off the tray. “And Grimak, I want you posted right outside these doors. No one else goes in.”

“Aye, sir!” Grimak saluted and took up his spot. 

“Ori.” Thorin began as he led the red-headed dwarf a little farther away. “I need something, anything! Do you have anything written yet?” he whispered. 

“Well, I’ve been working on this section about food—“

“Food?”

“Aye, sir. It’s a big deal for hobbits, both on a small and large scale. Did you know much of their culture revolves around food? And flowers, but we haven’t really gotten into that yet.”

“That’s perfect!” That’s exactly what Thorin needed right now. “Do you have any of it done?”

“I-I have a few pages written, but they're just rough drafts.”

“I need them now. I don’t care If they aren’t cleaned up yet."

“O-Okay. I can go get them for you.”

“Do that. And I need you to put more time into this. Quit you’re work at the library if you have to. I’ll sponsor you full time if it will get this done faster.” 

“O-oh. Well, it’s not really me that’s slowing things down. Not-not that it’s his fault of course! But Bilbo doesn’t really have a lot of time to talk. They scold us if we talk too much in the library,” Ori confided. 

“What about in the kitchens?”

“The-the kitchens? You mean when he’s working?”

Thorin nodded. 

“Well, I suppose I could, but I’d hate to bother him.” Ori wrung his hands in his knitted sweater. 

“Offer to pay him.”

“What?”

“It’s only fair. You’re getting paid for a job that requires his time and information. He’s basically the reason you have it. Offer to reimburse him for his time, and I’ll include the funds in your sponsorship. He’ll probably jump at the chance to work two jobs at once.” 

“So, you’ll be paying us both then?” 

“Yes. If he agrees.”

Ori went silent, apparently speechless at the offer. 

“Anyways, just ask him or offer or whatever. I need this information faster.” 

Ori nodded but seemed to be studying him more speculatively. “All right. I’ll talk to him. . . . Can I ask—“

“No.” Thorin cut him off. “Just do your job.”

Ori’s mouth snapped shut, and he nodded shortly. “I’ll, uh, just go get you those pages.” He shuffled away meekly. 

When Thorin turned to head back to the royal wing, Dwalin was there waiting. His cousin’s eyes seemed to follow the young scribe out before turning back. 

“I don’t think she’s a real person.” Dwalin threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Think she might be some kind of bottomless pit wearing skin,” he clarified at Thorin’s confused look. 

Thorin’s eyes went wide at the realization. “She ate it all?” It had not been a small tray of food. He was pretty sure it had been meant for Bilbo and Dahlia both.

“Every bit.”

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face in awe. “Durin’s beard.”

“Has he woke up at all?” Dwalin asked.

“No, but he has stirred. It seems to be a more natural sleep now.”

“Is there anythin’ more ye need me ta do?”

“Maybe let the kitchen know to send food up more often.”

“Aye. I’ll stop by and make sure they know.” Dwalin nodded. “What about ye?”

“I need to stay. With Bi—with him asleep someone needs to keep an eye on her.” Thorin glanced around to see if anyone noticed his slip. 

“Aye. She’s a good lass. Best not to let her fret on her own.”

“See if you can pick her up some toys or paper or something. Anything to help her keep busy.” 

“All right. I’ll see to it. Go take care of ‘em.” Dwalin shooed him inside. 

Thorin clapped him on the shoulder as his cousin turned to leave and slipped into the special room. Dahlia shot him a grin and wave as he entered. He smiled. At least he was making progress with one of his hobbits. 

Just as his friend had said, the tray was picked clean where it had been set aside. “Did you get enough to eat?”

She nodded though not as confidently as he would have liked. 

“I’ll have them bring up more soon,” he promised.

“”Kay.” She grinned in easy acceptance. 

“How’s he doing.” Thorin took a seat by their cot. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Dahlia answered less cheerfully. 

“No, but he's moved. I think he’d just sleeping normally now.”

“You think so?” She perked up.

“Aye. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He petted her head lightly. 

She smiled with relief and leaned over her papa. Nestling her head on her arms, she waited for him to wake up.

Thorin observed with a small smile and settled in to keep the silent vigil with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo is recovering, and Thorin is there every step of the way to see to both his and Dahlia's needs. Thorin makes some progress earning his hobbits' trust.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out Thorin's [theme song](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/635028997351292928/thorins-from-one-of-a-king-theme-song-fences).
> 
> This work is updated monthly. Check out my [tumblr](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com) for my posting schedule, announcements, fic recs, recent activities, fan art and more!


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